


This Love Left a Permanent Mark

by harrietelizabeth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Divorce, Kid Fic, M/M, Near Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietelizabeth/pseuds/harrietelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam’s memory of Zayn is a summer afternoon, scraping enough money together between them for ice creams and a pack of smokes, the window open in Liam’s room to entice a breeze inside. It’s midnight conversations and early morning kisses, still half asleep. It’s all the words Liam never knew how to say until he heard them from Zayn’s lips.</p><p>And Zayn’s memory of Liam is….well, that’s the problem. Liam has no idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Love Left a Permanent Mark

2028

It happens all at once, Liam thinks.

One day you’re waking up every morning next to the love of your life, in the house you bought together that’s filled with pictures of the two of you, and the next you’re getting a divorce.

One day you’re talking about dinner plans on Friday night and who’s going to pick up the dry cleaning, and the next you’re signing papers to say she keeps the house and you get the car.

Or maybe it happened slowly, he thinks, and he just didn’t notice. Maybe it started that day, more than a year ago, when he’d tried to talk about kids and she’d changed the topic to tell him he needed a haircut. Maybe it started on one of those nights he’d roll over to find her looking at him, wide-awake and beautiful, her face unreadable. Maybe he should’ve known then, instead of kissing her and telling her to go back to sleep. 

All at once or day by day, Liam doesn’t have time to worry about it now. He’s too busy signing papers, struggling through phone calls with Sophia about who paid for the TV, trying to come to terms with the fact that, at 35, his life is coming apart at the seams. She’d been all he wanted – beautiful, smart, scrupulous, organized, always on point, always trying to drag Liam up to her level. He’d tried, he really had, to be the man she deserved. Fought for his job at the firm, worked long hours, made partner, wore the ridiculously expensive ties she bought him because it made her happy. Went to all the dinner parties and charity balls and gallery openings she wanted to, because it made her happy. Lived in a house too big for two but never mentioned kids after that first time, because it made her happy. 

It looked like he’d fallen short of the mark, though.

Now his life is Harry and Nick’s guest room, a few too many glasses of wine with dinner, 9am headaches and sleeping pills to get him through the night. It’s dinner at Louis and Eleanor’s on a Sunday and hearing about how well Sophia is doing, because El still keeps in touch with her. 

He should be doing more, he knows that. He should be fighting to get her back, doing everything in his power to stop her leaving him, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He sees the way she looks at him now, like she’s looking straight through him. She stopped wearing her ring the day Liam had packed up whatever he could fit in a suitcase and showed up on Harry and Nick’s doorstep, so Liam stopped wearing his too. 

It’s easier that way, to pretend it’s mutual, even though the protests in his head are so deafening he can’t think sometimes. 

//

“At least you don’t have kids, mate,” Louis says one night when he and Eleanor are round at Harry and Nick’s for dinner, the four of them talking about all the couples they know that are divorced now, as if that will make Liam feel better, that he’s not the only one who’s losing everything. Eleanor slaps Louis round the back of the head and Harry practically shrieks “Louis!” He thinks Nick kicks Louis under the table.

But Louis’ right, Liam thinks.

“It’s true,” he says, his tongue too big for his mouth. “I’d hate for them to have to go through this.” 

He’d hate for them feel like he does now, with everybody looking at him with that ‘poor Liam’ expression, like he’s a kid who’s just been told he can’t have a puppy. Harry even puts his hand over Liam’s, for Christ’s sake, like they’re having a séance or something. Liam leaves the table, saying he has work to finish on his laptop. He doesn’t care whether they believe him or not; Louis is right, and admitting it feels like his heart is being cut out of his chest by one of Nick and Harry’s butter knives.

That’s what this whole thing was about anyway, Liam thinks as he’s lying in bed that night. He wanted kids, and she didn’t. He wanted two girls and a boy, he wanted ballet lessons and parent teacher interviews and football on Saturdays. She wanted a clean house, holidays to Hawaii whenever she felt like it and a clear career path. And why shouldn’t she?

//

The next morning he has a text from Louis. “Sorry for being an ass last night :/ let me make it up to you? Drinks this fri?? x”

Liam sighs, and texts Louis back agreeing to drinks. It’s not like he has any other plans.

2011

“So, you coming to Niall’s for drinks tonight, or do you have to study,” Louis asks, throwing an arm around Liam’s shoulders as they walk down the street they’ve both lived on since they were in nappies. Technically, Liam does have to study, but he doubts Louis will take that as an acceptable reason for not going out. Louis, as usual, is all aboard Liam’s internal thought train, and he jumps at Liam’s pause.

“Zayn will be there,” he says mischievously, and Liam can feel himself blush. He hates Louis sometimes.

“We’ve got a Spanish exam in less than two weeks,” Liam says, but he doesn’t sound convincing, even to his own ears. 

“And Zayn’s tongue can do things that will make you forget how to even spell your own name,” says Louis, and Liam shoves him away, his neck turning even redder under his navy button up. 

Did he mention he hates Louis?

He ends up going to Niall’s, of course. Louis is kind of hard to say no to when he barges into Liam’s room with a bottle of vodka, wearing one of those awful rainbow coloured caps with the little propeller on top. 

Liam is dutifully trying to study some of the many Spanish words that Zayn’s tongue would, apparently, cause him to forget. But Louis is throwing a tee shirt at him (after sniffing it to make sure it’s clean), eyeing his jeans and deciding they’re acceptable, then jamming one of Liam’s snapbacks on his head and pulling him out the door.

“Sleepover at Niall’s tonight, promise I’ll bring him back by lunchtime tomorrow, Mrs Payne,” Louis singsongs at Liam’s mum on their way out the door. There’s something about him that no one can say no to – not Nick, not Liam’s mum, and certainly not Liam. He doesn’t know how it’s possible for someone to be so charming and yet so truly horrible at the same time.

The rest of the boys are already at Niall’s when they arrive, and Liam adjusts his cap nervously even though he’s known these boys almost as long as he’s known Louis.

They rode their bikes down the street together when they were seven (Louis was always the one clipping Liam’s tire so he fell off); played casual-but-not-really football in Harry’s huge backyard when they were thirteen until the ball went over the fence into Mrs Madden’s greenhouse and they’d all had to pool their pocket money for the month to pay her back; they each poured out an inch of their parents’ liquor into a drink bottle when they were fifteen and mixed it all together one night, passing round the bottle until they were all glassy-eyed and giggly and Harry had thrown up on his shoes. And now they’re 18, old enough to have bottles of beer in the fridge and girls milling around in Niall’s backyard and cigarette smoke curling in the air. 

Liam still isn’t quite used to it yet; the newness of knowing his friends like this, of finding out who’s dating who and who can do the most shots of vodka in one night (it’s Niall, although Louis doesn’t like to be reminded of that). He isn’t used yet to the feeling of vodka burning the back of his throat, warming his chest and sending him off balance when Zayn comes up next to him smoking a cigarette and smiling like he knows something Liam doesn’t. Zayn has that kind of look, sometimes, like he can see right into Liam’s head, and Liam isn’t sure how to feel about it.

He isn’t used to thinking about Zayn’s lips wrapped around a cigarette or the glint of his teeth in the porch light, the hairs on his arms and the few that are starting to appear on his chin and his chest. Liam isn’t used to finding his way upstairs with Zayn pulling at his tee shirt, Liam’s cap on the floor and Zayn’s hands on his hips. 

He could probably get used to it though, he thinks.

 

2028

“You need to start dating again, mate,” Louis says loudly, his voice cutting through the noise of the bar. He clinks his glass against Liam’s, and Liam notices the glint of his wedding band in the dim light. His stomach turns over. 

“Yeah, right. Dating who?”

“Anyone, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to like them.” 

Liam makes a face. That makes literally no sense at all. “Last time I checked that was kind of the whole point of dating.” 

Louis shakes his head vigorously.

“The point of dating, dear Liam, is to boost your ego. Find people who are interested in you, whether you like them or not. Tell yourself you’ve still got it, break a few hearts, have no-strings sex, just – “ Louis looks at him with wide eyes. “God, I kind of wish I was you.” Liam glares at him.

“No Lou, you don’t.” 

No one wanted to be the one guy without someone to fall asleep with at night (which he was reminded of daily when Harry fell asleep on the couch and Nick would carry him to bed, rolling his eyes at Liam and complaining that Harry was actually a three-year-old inside). No one wanted to feel like they fucked up their one chance to be happy, like they gave everything away and they weren’t going to get it back ever again.

“No but really, if there was one person you could date again, like, someone from your past, who would it be?” 

Liam smiles sadly down at his nearly-finished pint.

“Not Soph,” Louis adds quickly, but Liam wasn’t going to say her. 

2011

The sun is almost too hot, Liam thinks, but he can’t move because Zayn’s arm is thrown across his bare stomach. It will probably leave a stripe in Liam’s tan because they’ve been lying here for hours, nothing to do in a town that takes less than an hour to ride across on their bikes. 

“Zayn,” he says, his voice low and thick from sleepiness. 

Zayn doesn’t move, but he makes a soft ‘mm’ sound. Liam finds the energy to reach up his hand and comb his fingers through Zayn’s hair, freshly cut at the sides and longer on top, soft and thick. 

“We have to be at Louis’ soon. He’ll kill us if we’re late.”

“Mm.” Liam smiles. Talking to a sleeping Zayn is like talking to a brick wall. Liam needs to try a different tactic. 

Slinging Zayn’s arm off his stomach, Liam rolls over so he’s hovering over Zayn, pinning his arms above his head. Still Zayn’s eyes stay closed, but Liam was expecting that. He still has a whole arsenal of wake-up-Zayn weaponry to get through.

The first involves kissing his neck, the sensitive part that always makes Zayn shiver, just under his jawline. He sees Zayn’s eyelashes flutter and notices the ghost of a smile on his lips, but Zayn still doesn’t wake up. 

Liam’s second tactic is to bite down, gently at first and then harder, on the smooth skin in the hollow of Zayn’s collarbone. Liam, still holding Zayn’s wrists with his left hand, feels the hands beneath his own clench, but when he looks up Zayn’s eyes are still closed. 

Time for weapon number three. He grins as he moves down Zayn’s body, brown from weeks of summer holidays lying out on Liam’s lawn and wiry from chasing each other down the street on their bikes. 

Liam’s teeth catch the skin just below Zayn’s hip bones and he hears a sharp intake of breath from above him, Zayn’s hips rocking up. Liam grins.

Mission accomplished.

2028

“Come on, who?” Louis presses, as if Liam’s flashback had just played out in front of his own eyes. Liam avoids his gaze guiltily.

He has no idea why he’s been thinking about Zayn so much lately. They haven’t seen each other in over fifteen years, his first love confined to photos at Liam’s parents house and faded pictures in the back of his mind, belonging to another place, another time that Liam knows he can’t go back to. 

But something’s shaken up the memories collecting dust in the corners of his mind and brought them back to the surface; little things, like old RnB songs and Northern accents, warm brown eyes and tattoos of birds.

Louis is staring at him like he knows, and Liam starts to panic.

They’ve always been open with each other, ever since Liam came out to Louis when they were sixteen and Louis helped him tell his parents; ever since Louis told him he was moving to London to be with Eleanor, and Liam told him he’d move with him. 

This is different though. This is stupid, just Liam being lonely and missing something he had when he was 18, something that seems untainted now by what he knows about real love, not that kid stuff.

Real love that leaves you awake and sweating in the middle of the night, wondering where you are and how you got to this point, surrounded by takeout containers and empty packets of Xanax at your best mate’s house.

Liam isn’t sure whether to tell Lou or not, but the beers they’ve been drinking have made him loose-lipped, feeling too comfortable and warm and open with Louis.

“Zayn.” 

It tumbles out without Liam’s permission; he’d just been about to take it back when he hears the word out of his own mouth, and it tastes sweet on his tongue. 

It reminds him of recurring dreams about warm hands and the smell of cigarettes, mixing rum and cokes on Liam’s lawn while his parents were at work and falling asleep on the grass.

Louis’ face is unreadable, but Liam knows he’s set some machinery in motion, can see the cogs ticking in Louis’ brain. He downs another beer, tries to forget the taste of Zayn’s lips, sweet with rum, on his own. 

//

Later, much later, he and Louis stumble into a taxi, arms around each other and laughing about something Louis has just said. Liam is barely listening as Louis gives the driver directions, instead just winding down the window to feel the fresh night air hit his face. 

They drop Louis off first and he plants a sloppy kiss on Liam’s cheek, telling him he’ll find Zayn’s number tomorrow because he’s such a good friend, and that’s what friends do. Liam shoves him the rest of the way out of the taxi and watches him stumble up the steps to his and Eleanor’s apartment, pulling the fingers over his shoulder as he goes. 

Then Liam hears himself telling the driver an address he won’t ever forget, like that blue fish in Finding Nemo who Louis always says is Liam’s long lost twin. The driver listens to him, doesn’t know that Liam shouldn’t be going there. 

They pull up outside and Liam catches his breath. The lawns are still immaculately mowed, the number 182 glinting in silver plate on the fence in the moonlight. The curtains are all closed, with the soft glow of a light from behind them in the bedroom upstairs.

Then Liam notices there’s a black Jeep parked in the driveway.

It’s not Sophia’s, he knows that – she always parks her Audi in the garage, sleek and gorgeous just like her. And it’s definitely not Liam’s – he doesn’t live there, for one thing, and he fucking hates Jeeps, for another; wouldn’t be seen dead in one. 

He feels bile rising in his throat, so he shoves a handful of bills at the taxi driver and stumbles out onto the pavement, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. He considers throwing rocks at the window, waking her up, asking who’s in there with her. 

He considers slamming whoever it is against a wall and punching his lights out, but what’s the point? 

She’s moved on, and that’s fine. Maybe it’s time he did too. 

2011

Liam starts awake at the sound of something sharp hitting the glass of his window. He’s a light sleeper anyway, and now he’s wide awake. He’s 18, so of course he’s not scared, but he’s… slightly concerned for his own safety. Things don’t just hit your window in the middle of the night without there being some sinister reason for it. 

He’s watched enough movies to know that.

Cautiously, he opens the curtains a fraction to peek outside. It takes his eyes a second to adjust to the darkness – glancing over his shoulder, he sees the clock beside his bed reads 1:14am – and then he sees a figure on the lawn. 

He almost dives under the bed and calls the police, but then he notices the familiar sweep of dark hair, the brown eyes (though he can’t see from his second storey bedroom) glinting up at him through the dark. Liam’s heart is pounding out of his chest, but it’s not from fear anymore.

He opens the window carefully, slowly, knowing how it creaks and remembering his parents are sleeping down the hall, his sister in the next room. 

“Zayn,” he whispers. “What are you doing?”

Zayn just beckons, that infuriatingly knowing smile playing across his lips. Liam bites his lip – if his parents find out he’s snuck out he’ll be grounded for sure – but then it’s Zayn. Nothing bad ever happens when Zayn’s around.

Ten minutes later, Liam’s out on the grass, shivering in sweatpants and a hoodie. Zayn’s just in jeans and a tee shirt, and Liam touches his arm instinctively, worried that he’s too cold. He should have brought a jersey down.

Zayn leans in to Liam’s touch, pulling him closer for a kiss. Liam almost gets carried away with it, until he remembers it’s 1:30 in the morning and they’re on his parents’ lawn. He pulls away reluctantly, getting lost in that fraction of a second where Zayn’s eyes refocus after the kiss, zeroing in on Liam’s own. 

“What are you doing here?” Liam asks softly, barely needing to whisper with how close they’re standing.

“Wanted to show you something,” Zayn says, taking Liam’s hand and leading him out to the street, turning at the end of the driveway in the direction that leads away from school, away from Louis’ house, towards the river that runs through their sleepy little town.

“Right now?” Liam asks a little incredulously, but he’s smiling, enjoying the feeling of being pulled along by Zayn, who usually drags his feet and has to be lead on by Liam. Zayn turns slightly, tongue between his teeth in a grin.

“Yeah.”

2028

For some insane reason which he has yet to fathom, Liam agrees to go with Nick and Harry to pick up their new dog from the farm it belongs to. Probably because Harry is nearly impossible to say no to.

It’s not like he needs to see the way that Nick’s arm snakes around Harry’s waist as they walk from the car to the kennel, or the way that Harry’s face lights up like a little kid as he sees the puppies, and how Nick’s eyes soften while he stands back, scratching the back of his neck.

On the drive home, Pig (Harry had insisted on the name after seeing the farm’s pigs, and he was so eager Nick couldn’t refuse, as usual) clambers over Liam and licks his face, while Liam pretends not to see Harry’s hand on Nick’s thigh and the way the back of Nick’s neck goes pink when Harry digs his long fingers in. 

Fleetwood Mac is playing at full volume through the speakers, and Harry’s got his window down even though the air conditioning is working perfectly fine. He’s doing that thing with his hand (the one that isn’t occupied with Nick’s thigh) where he waves it through the air rushing past the car. 

It reminds Liam of long, hot summer days and nights testing the speed limit in his dad’s car just outside their town, Zayn on the passenger side, his usually perfect quiff whipped out of shape by the wind, air conditioning broken and all the windows open, both of them singing to Usher (Liam’s choice, but he knew Zayn secretly liked it).

“In the stillness of remembering what you had, and what you lost, and what you had, and what you lost,” Harry’s singing, and Liam presses his forehead against the cool glass of the backseat window. 

2011

The air is cooler under the bridge, damp and clammy against Liam’s face. He can’t really see Zayn, but he can feel his hand, warm and comforting in his own. Then Zayn turns on the flashlight on his phone, blinding Liam for a second before he blinks a few times and his eyes adjust. 

They’re under one of the concrete bridges that spans the river at the edge of their town, the one that hardly ever gets used because the road was redirected years ago, to a newer bridge a few miles upstream. Zayn’s flashlight is splashed over the underside of the bridge, revealing a wall of colourful graffiti that spans the entire thing, spreading up to the beams on the underside of the bridge. 

Zayn looks over at Liam cautiously, like he’s worried about what his reaction will be. Liam isn’t sure what his reaction is yet, he’s a little overwhelmed with the darkness and the cold and the fact that he can recognise Zayn’s tags up there, picked out in different colours and lettering.

“I come here to paint sometimes,” Zayn mumbles, sounding apologetic. “I guess I just… wanted you to see where I hang out.” Liam looks back at him, and he can hardly see through the darkness but he’s blown away by how earnest Zayn looks, how much he wants Liam to appreciate this. 

And Liam does; he’s overwhelmed by Zayn’s creativity and his daring for coming down here, and his thoughtfulness for bringing Liam here, for wanting Liam to be a part of everything he does. 

He doesn’t know how to tell Zayn all this, though, so he reaches over and brushes a finger over Zayn’s cheek. It’s warm, not what Liam was expecting, and he pulls Zayn into his side.

“Show me which parts are yours,” Liam says, and watches as Zayn comes alive next to him, pointing out his tag name (ZAP – the ZA for Zayn, and the P for Payne, he jokes, but Liam knows it’s a superhero thing – at least he thinks it is), the little doodles he’s made, his face lit up like a thousand stars even in the darkness. Liam feels warm, so warm, despite the cold air on his skin.

“Can I…come here, with you, and watch you paint sometime?” he asks in Zayn’s ear as they stand looking up at the bridge, Zayn wrapped in Liam’s arms from behind. Zayn turns around, smiling blindly and so sweetly it hurts, and Liam wants to kiss him until he can’t remember anything before this.

“Course,” Zayn says, his voice bouncing off the stones of the riverbed and the dry concrete wall of the bridge even though it’s barely more than a murmur. 

2028

“You didn’t hear this from me.” Liam can hear Louis’ muffled voice through the door as he approaches Harry and Nick’s apartment. Liam stops outside on a whim, and his intuition is rewarded when Louis finishes his sentence.

“But Payno’s pining for a long lost love.” Liam drops the bag of quinoa and celery he was carrying (Harry’s got them on this new diet) and curses silently.

Shit. Shit shit shit. He is going to murder Louis.

He’d sworn Louis to secrecy after his drunken admission that he’d been thinking about Zayn, and Louis had nodded fiercely, even pinky promised Liam, the bastard.

But who is Liam kidding. He’s 35, pinky promises don’t mean shit, and unfortunately, he’s best mates with the biggest gossip this side of the Thames.

“Ooooo, who?” Nick asks, always a sucker for scandal (almost as bad as Louis).

“Ah, but that would be telling, young Nicholas.” 

Liam hears something thud inside, and a squeaky ‘ow’ from Louis. He bends down to pick up the shopping bag, its contents still intact thankfully. His hands are shaking.

“C’mon Lou, tell uuuuus,” says Harry, though Liam can tell he’s not really paying attention. Probably cooing over Pig, which he’s spent the last four days doing since they brought her home from the farm. Pig even sleeps in their bed, which Liam thinks is a little extravagant, but then, his bed is always painfully empty, so his opinion hardly counts.

“Guess,” says Louis, and Liam can only imagine the glee on his face. “It’s not Sophia.”

“Gabriella,” says Nick, and Liam makes a face. She’d been his first girlfriend in college, the first person he’d dated after Zayn. A rebound, mostly. 

“Nope!” Louis crows.

“Anthony,” Harry says, and Louis must shake his head, because Nick jumps in with “Fiona!” 

Liam isn’t sure he’s even dated that many people.

“God, really you two? Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“I would offer you a whiteboard for a quick game of hangman, but I haven’t got one lying around so if you could kindly quit being a prick and just tell us, that’d be lovely,” says Nick, and Liam feels sweat start to bead on his forehead.

He could go in now, interrupt what he knows Louis is about to say and save himself from weeks and weeks of teasing, but something makes him hold back. 

His own stupidity, probably.

“It starts with Z and ends with a-y-n” Louis says triumphantly, and Liam hears various whoops and exclamations from Harry and Nick. Even Pig starts barking, and she’s usually more like a cat than a dog in the amount of noise she makes. 

Feeling sick, Liam pushes open the door, and feels silence settle around the room.

“Li! You’re home,” Louis says, and Liam can see the panic in his eyes, like a small animal trapped by a fox. Liam considers going in for the kill, but honestly, he’s too damn exhausted. He’d signed the final paper today, the one that made it real, too real, and he really just wants a strong drink and a long sleep to forget about it.

“Lou! You’re…here,” Liam responds, plonking the quinoa and celery (god awful stuff) on the kitchen counter.

“I – just came over to tell Haz and Nick about dinner this Saturday. At ours. To celebrate…you know. The end of all this.” Liam nods grimly.

The end of his marriage. The end of his normal, happy life where he got to keep the girl of his dreams, the end of the part of his life where his friends didn’t talk about who he fancied behind his back like it was bloody high school again. 

“We’ll be there,” Harry says chirpily. “Won’t we Pig?”

“With bells on,” Nick adds enthusiastically. 

“Ooooh, good idea! We should get her a little collar with a bell, so we can hear her coming!” Harry exclaims. Louis raises an eyebrow at Liam, and things almost feel normal.

“I’m going to get you a collar, one that’s so tight you can’t use your vocal chords to talk shit,” Nick says, and they’re all laughing, and everything is fine, Liam thinks. 

Everything is fine.

//

Liam should have known. He truly, honestly should have seen this coming. He’s known Louis practically his whole life, and he somehow manages to miss the fact that of course his asshole for a best friend would invite the one person he doesn’t want to see on the night he’s meant to be celebrating his divorce. Celebrate doesn’t seem the right word, somehow.

He looks older; his bright, sharp good looks have mellowed out into soft edges around his jaw and his eyes, but Liam still sees the spark in there, the thousand different colours that make up his iris. It may be more than fifteen years since they’ve seen each other, but Liam would recognize Zayn on his deathbed amongst hundreds of other faces. His hair is long now, pulled back into a soft bun, and when his head turns on his neck, swanlike, Liam is trapped like an insect under glass. He feels his heart beat against his chest like the fluttering of tiny wings, but he can’t move. 

“Liam!” 

It’s Louis, not Zayn, that breaks Liam out of his stupor. It’s Liam, not Harry or Nick, who Louis greets first, and Liam knows it’s for Zayn’s benefit. He’s about to leave, plead a headache or a difficult case he’s working on, death in the family, anything to get him out of this room with Zayn’s eyes and the memories that threaten to choke Liam before he can even catch a breath. 

He feels like his limbs are carved from stone as Louis leads him to his chair (directly opposite Zayn, of course) and he sits down, breath still caught in his lungs. 

“Li, you remember Zayn, right?” Liam brainstorms at least three ways he could kill Louis before answering.

“Yeah, course.” 

Then Zayn smiles, and the world turns the right way up again. Liam draws a breath, feels it catch in his throat as he returns the smile nervously. 

“Liam!” comes a familiar voice from Zayn’s left, and Liam tears his gaze away from Zayn’s to see a beaming face and Niall’s broad shoulders sitting across from him. He always bleached his hair in high school, but Niall’s let his natural brunette grow out. It looks good on him, Liam thinks. “Good t’see you mate!” Niall is grinning maniacally; he’s hardly aged a day since Liam last saw him.

Liam relaxes finally; Niall tends to have that effect on people. Always knows what to say in a tense situation, and when they were younger he was always the one to diffuse a fight between Louis and some twat from school with a simple shrug and a smile. 

“Niall, how’ve you been?” Liam asks, feeling too hot under Zayn’s gaze but focusing his entire attention on Niall and the aura of ease and comfort he exudes. 

“Ace, mate, got my own company now – “ Liam tries to remember what Niall does again – architecture? No, interior design – as Niall rattles off his account of the last decade of his life. Single, living in London, running his own business, at the top of his game. Liam tries to reduce his own life to a similar list: recently divorced, disengaged from his job that he only got to impress his now-ex-wife, living in his friends’ guest room. Impressive.

Then Niall’s asking him how things are, though he obviously knows, and all Liam can say is “Fine, yeah.”

 

2011

“It’s not fine, it’s – it’s embarrassing!” Liam has flashbacks of a candle knocked onto the carpet, putting it out with Zayn’s favourite shirt while the two of them stood there, naked and awkward, their ‘first time’, supposed to be perfect, ruined by Liam’s stupidity. He squirms under his clothes, feeling truly sick. Zayn puts a hand under his chin, gently scratching it and tilting it up so Liam is forced to look at him. 

“Honestly babe, stop worrying, it’s no big deal,” Zayn says, warm and reassuring, but still Liam feels too hot, despite the rain pouring down outside and the fact that the hairs on his arms are standing up. He feels beads of perspiration dampening the back of his neck, even though it’s exposed to the cold in his ridiculous tee shirt that he’d worn over here, too desperate to apologise to Zayn to put on anything warmer.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Zayn keeps saying, “first times never go right; that’s the point, you learn for next time.” Liam swallows awkwardly against Zayn’s fingers, still brushing against his throat.

“You sound like you know from experience.” Liam doesn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but….well, Zayn had made it sound like he knew what a first time was like.

“No! No, it’s just what everyone’s told me. Doniya, Mum, everyone.” 

“You….talked to them about it?” Liam tries to imagine asking Ruth or Nicola about sex, and his stomach turns over.

“Just about general stuff, yeah. Not about…you and me, though. It’s just between us.” 

Zayn’s fingers dance up to Liam’s cheek, gently brushing against the hot blush that’s spread from his chest right to his forehead. Liam lowers his eyes, feeling exposed under Zayn’s touch, and he hasn’t even got his clothes off.

“Li,” Zayn says, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s just you and me, yeah?” 

Liam’s eyes flit back up to meet Zayn’s, and when they do, he’s overwhelmed with a feeling of safety and comfort. Zayn’s strong, unfaltering gaze holds him down, and his embarrassment starts to subside. 

“It should be spontaneous,” Zayn’s saying, leaning further into Liam until there’s hardly room to breathe between them. Liam’s certainly finding it difficult. 

“I love that you planned it all, I really do – “ more flashbacks to a mix of Drake and Usher playing softly through Liam’s iPod speakers, the dim lights, the candles, the ridiculousness of it all – “but it doesn’t have to be like that. All I need is you.” 

Zayn is so close Liam can feel his lips move against his cheek more than he can hear the words, and he closes his eyes, focusing in on the touch, letting go of the feeling of humiliation. 

“I want you,” Zayn breathes, right in Liam’s ear, and that’s all it takes to send Liam over the edge. 

He pushes Zayn back onto his pillows, chasing after his mouth that’s still hanging open from a breath, finding his lips and pulling the air out of Zayn’s lungs. Zayn’s hands go to the bottom of his tee shirt, pushing it up frantically and gasping into Liam’s mouth. Liam barely has time to marvel at how perfectly they fit together, one of his hands beside Zayn’s head and the other fumbling at the top of his jeans, Zayn’s legs going to Liam’s waist and his hands coming up to Liam’s face. 

Ok, maybe perfect isn’t the word Liam is looking for. He loses his balance pulling Zayn’s jeans off and Zayn’s elbow collides with Liam’s temple when he reaches over to grab his condoms and a little bottle of lube from his bedside table, but it feels like it’s….right. 

That’s all Liam can think as he nervously rubs the lube over his fingers, kissing carefully down Zayn’s neck as he slips the first finger in, terrified of hurting him but feeling like this is all just right. Zayn has to tell Liam to stop asking if he’s ok and if it hurts, and eventually Liam relaxes enough to actually enjoy it. He gets lost in Zayn’s skin, so golden and tightly stretched over the bone and muscle beneath him, tasting salty sweet, like burnt caramel, when Liam cautiously runs his mouth over it. He shudders at every groan that escapes Zayn’s lips, can feel his head start to spin as Zayn grinds down onto his fingers, begging him to add a third. Liam thinks it’s going to be too much until Zayn snatches the condom off the bedside table and holds it out to Liam, his eyes huge and pleading. 

“Please Liam, I need you inside me now, please.” 

Liam gulps, nods, and takes the condom, fingers shaking as he tears the wrapper. He accidentally rips it in his haste to get it on, overcome by the sight of Zayn lying spread-eagled underneath him, skin sheened in sweat and his thick cock lying pressed against his thigh.

Liam feels like he might cry, because the second time can’t be as shit as the first, it just can’t be, but then Zayn’s taking another condom from the drawer, tearing it open with his teeth (Liam doesn’t stop to question the necessity of this gesture when his dick twitches against his stomach). Zayn sits up, one hand going to the back of Liam’s neck and the other sliding the condom onto his painfully hard cock, smooth and slick, flicking his wrist as he pulls his hand off.

Liam regains his composure after that, realising that he can’t wait any longer or he’s going to spontaneously combust. He pushes Zayn back down into the mattress, gasps into his mouth as he lines their bodies up and marvels at the thousand different ways two people can fit together. 

Zayn’s panting absolute filth into Liam’s ear, telling him how wet and open he is, ready for Liam’s cock, how much he wants to feel Liam inside him, and Liam is worried this is going to be over before it even begins. 

Then Zayn slips his hand between them, guiding Liam inside him, and Liam can’t help letting out a strangled gasp. 

“Oh, fuck.” He thinks Zayn may be smirking beneath him, smug bastard, but his pupils blow wide, fully black, and his mouth goes slack when Liam bottoms out, so Liam decides to claim a small victory.

When Liam first discovered blowjobs, he thought he’d never feel anything as incredible ever again. The sensation of Zayn’s soft, spit-slicked lips wrapped around him, the tightness of his throat and the heat of his breath, not to mention his dark eyelashes resting against his cheek or the desperate look in his eyes when he glanced up at Liam, cheeks stretched tight around Liam’s cock. 

But this, being inside Zayn like this, was something entirely different. Zayn was so painfully tight around him, hot and wet and throbbing around Liam. Liam shuts his eyes, drawing a deep breath as the feeling threatens to overwhelm him.

“Liam?” Liam opens his eyes and looks down at Zayn, heart beating out of his chest.

“Yeah?” he croaks.

“Move, god, please just fucking move.” 

Zayn’s voice is wrecked as he looks up at Liam with desperate eyes, and Liam nods fervently, slowly pulling out and pushing back in again, closing his eyes because the image of Zayn’s forehead creasing, fists clenching the pillow and sweat pooling in the hollow of his collarbone, just above his tattoo, is too much. 

Liam keeps it slow and steady, terrified of hurting Zayn as much as he’s terrified of finishing before things get going properly, because his orgasm feels like it’s pressing right against the surface and he can barely hold it down. 

Zayn reaches up for the back of his neck and pulls his face down, grazing his teeth against Liam’s jaw.

“Faster,” he pants, “Need it faster, babe, need you to fuck me, fuck me please, Liam,” he’s ranting, and Liam bites the inside of his cheek until the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. His hips snap back and forth as he buries his face in Zayn’s shoulder, feeling his boyfriend’s legs wrap around him tighter.

“Zayn,” he chokes out, his fingers finding Zayn’s wrist against the pillow and squeezing around it. “Not gonna – last – much –“

“Me either,” Zayn breathes quickly, his lips finding Liam’s earlobe, one of his most sensitive spots, and latching on. “Want you to come babe, I wanna feel you when you come,” Zayn’s saying, and Liam tightens his grip on Zayn’s wrist.

“Fuck you feel so good Zayn, so tight and good for me, fuck,” Liam joins in Zayn’s frantic mumblings until they’re chanting together, Liam breaking his rhythm as he feels his orgasm spread through his bones, into his muscle, his bloodstream, right to the tips of his nerves and then it’s bursting out of him, shuddering and shaking as he holds onto Zayn, his only anchor. 

He feels Zayn arch into the mattress beneath him, letting out a string of expletives even Niall would be proud of, and then Zayn’s legs go slack around Liam’s waist. Liam can barely hold his weight up, his arms shaking as he tries not to crush Zayn in his post-orgasm comedown. 

When he finally recovers enough to move, Liam rolls over next to Zayn, breath coming shallow and fast. 

“Was that- “ he begins, but before he can doubt himself with a question, Zayn answers for him.

“That was fucking perfect,” he says, his voice hoarse and gravelly. Liam has no idea how his dick is still functioning, but the sound of Zayn’s wrecked voice almost has him on the verge of hard again. 

Gingerly, he peels off the condom and aims it vaguely towards Zayn’s bin. He’ll deal with that in the morning. As well as the hickey he can feel blossoming just beneath his birthmark, and the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s now ruined for any other human being, forever.

His post-coital brain has turned to goo, apparently, because he rolls towards Zayn and wraps an arm around him, pulling his back close to Liam’s still-sweaty chest, and mumbles “I love you,” into Zayn’s hair. 

He’s not the only one with cake batter for a brain, though, because Zayn links his fingers through Liam’s and whispers back “Love you too.”

They fall asleep like that, Liam’s mouth pressed against the back of Zayn’s neck and his fingers trailing along Zayn’s hip. 

Liam thinks he could live in this memory forever, in this bed where nothing, not their future or nightmares or growing old can touch them, where it’s just the two of them and the sound of their endless breath.

2028

Liam is pulled abruptly back to the present when he realizes he’s being asked a question. When he realizes Zayn is asking him a question, to be more specific. 

“Liam?” Zayn is staring at him like he’s grown a third arm, and Liam feels himself go hot under his collar.

“Um, sorry, what was that?” He sees Zayn’s eyebrow twitch slightly and wishes Louis and Eleanor’s shagpile rug would somehow open up and consume his entire body. 

“Kids. You got kids, Liam?” 

As if being caught out in reliving his and Zayn’s first time wasn’t bad enough, that word sends shockwaves through Liam. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s pushing back his chair and standing up, walking quickly out to Louis’ balcony before anyone can protest. The cold night air hits his face like a bucket of ice, and he fumbles in his pocket for his packet of cigarettes, managing to coax a spark from his Zippo with numb fingers.

Kids. 

That word sends him over the edge somehow, even in normal conversation around Harry and Nick (who he knows want to adopt, Pig is just the intermediary step). But coming from Zayn….Liam couldn’t help it, watching his expectant face, his eyes spark with curiosity, he couldn’t bear to confront the part of himself that was still angry with Sophia for refusing him this one thing. The thing he craves more than anything else. 

Family.

He pulls drags off his cigarette quickly, watching the flickering orange burn through the thin paper one breath at a time. Liam’s head feels so full, full to bursting, and he feels it spread right to his fingertips. 

He’s so full he’s buzzing, humming with energy, so that when he feels warm fingertips brush his shoulder he almost falls out of his chair. He must at least jump, because the fingers leave his shoulder so quickly Liam thinks he imagined them there. Until he hears Zayn apologise.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s ok, I just….wasn’t expecting company.”

“Sorry, I can – I can leave, if you want?” Liam hesitates, then shakes his head. 

Zayn takes his own packet of cigarettes from his pocket, crumpled and tattered, and lights one. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you before, or anything,” Zayn says, his voice tight around the smoke. “None of my business, really.” 

Liam feels like an idiot now. Of course he’d overreacted. 

“No, it’s fine. My fault, I shouldn’t have barged out like that. It’s just – kind of a sensitive topic, really.” 

He has no idea why he’s telling Zayn this; it’s not something he’s mentioned to anyone, not even Louis, and he hasn’t spoken to or even seen Zayn in fifteen years. 

But it’s like the gap that formed between them when Liam moved away to London was never really there, like they’ve been just as close all this time, and Liam can look at Zayn now, aged by mistakes and regrets and the exhaustion of falling in and out of love, and see the 18 year old boy he shared the best years of his life with.

All of a sudden, Liam’s back in Zayn’s room, surrounded by his posters of Iron Man and Black Widow and Manchester United. He can feel the soft cotton of Zayn’s plaid shirt Liam always borrowed against his skin; he wore it so often his mum had stopped asking questions when it turned up in the wash. 

He remembers being Zayn’s, as simple as that, knowing that his bed with the lopsided mattress with that boy with the endless eyes was where he belonged. 

It’s so strong, so overwhelming that Liam can’t tell where the memory ends and the present begins. He’s looking at Zayn, the Zayn he hasn’t known for fifteen years, and all he can see is the first person he ever loved.

//

Liam doesn’t see either Zayn – the 18 year old Zayn that keeps revisiting his dreams, or the 35 year old Zayn that has suddenly re-entered his life thanks to the unstoppable force of Louis Tomlinson – for another whole week after the dinner party. 

It’s not that Liam isn’t thinking about him. Because he really, really is. Thinking about the precise length of Zayn’s eyelashes in meetings with his clients, thinking about the rings on his fingers when he’s stuck in traffic on rainy evenings, thinking about the small, pink tongue that lashed out to lick at Zayn’s lips while Liam’s watching Nick and Harry play with Pig on the living room floor, pretending to be interested in the TV. 

It’s just that the sudden reunion with Zayn seems to have dispelled all daydreams of their long-lost love, because the hard reality of him is more tantalizing than anything Liam can dredge up from his hormone-fuelled past. And if Liam falls asleep imagining what Zayn’s skin would look like now (still taut and golden, stretched over his muscles? Or softer, more pliant under Liam’s hands?) then it’s no one’s business but Liam’s.

//

Liam is just leaving the gym before work on Wednesday morning when he gets a text from Louis – it’s suspicious right from the off, because Louis only texts when he wants something. And this seems far too innocuous to be genuine.

“Li!!!! im goin for coffee with Nialler and Z this arvo, u have to come join us!!! u can leave work early right??? (: (:” 

Liam throws his phone onto the passenger seat and frowns, kicking his car into gear too hard so that the tires squeal on his way out of the gym carpark. He gets a couple of looks from women with prams for being ‘that’ guy, but he doesn’t care.

He will not be a puppet in Louis’ little plot, whatever it is he’s scheming. Yes, he may want to get to know Zayn again, yes, he may think about Zayn’s mouth and fingers more than is statistically normal, but that does not mean he is going to become a pawn in Louis Tomlinson’s game. 

//

So of course he turns up to coffee five minutes early, still in his work suit because he ducked out early to meet the others. Because he’s an idiot. His eyes flit around the room for Louis (God knows why, because Hell will open up a frozen yoghurt store before Louis turns up anywhere on time), and instead land on Zayn. 

Fantastic. 

Somehow Liam knows this is part of Louis’ plot, and he’s dreading it already. Still, he’s pretty sure Zayn’s already seen him, so it’s too late to bail. He makes his way over to the table in the corner, his heart doing somersaults when he notices Niall’s not there either. He can’t tell if he’s disappointed or elated.

He decides on the latter when he sees the way Zayn’s face lights up as Liam approaches, getting out of his seat before Liam can sit down. Liam holds his hand out for a handshake, but Zayn goes for a hug, and there’s an awkward moment when Liam’s hand digs into Zayn’s stomach (still tight and flat, Liam notes with a gulp), but Zayn makes nothing of it.

“The others not here yet?” Liam asks as they sit down opposite each other. Zayn looks surprised, and Liam thinks, here we go.

“Others?” Liam weighs up the pros of spending 25 to life in jail for the privilege of wrapping his hands around Louis’ scrawny neck.

“Louis, uh…said he and Niall were coming. As well,” Liam stammers, trying not to make it sound like he didn’t want to see Zayn. Zayn does his part by not looking too put out. Kind of amused, actually. 

“Did he now? Sounds like our Lou,” Zayn says with a smile, and Liam remembers that Louis was once as close with Zayn as he was with Liam. 

“Little prick,” Liam mutters, and Zayn laughs, making Liam jump. Zayn isn’t upset by this at all? Zayn is not contemplating how to make Louis’ death look like an accident? Zayn…came to a coffee shop on the sole premise of meeting up with Liam? 

Liam needs a moment.

His moment is interrupted by a waitress in a blue apron coming over to take their order, smiling sweetly at them.

“What can I get you?” she asks, and Liam almost says “A new best friend,” before Zayn asks for a cappuccino with cinnamon, extra shot. The girl titters charmingly, scribbling on her notepad, then turns to Liam.

“And you, sir?” Liam hates being called sir, he really does. Even juniors at the law firm don’t do it. He twists the napkin next to his water glass in his right hand and steadies himself with a deep breath. It’s just coffee, for Christ’s sake, he tells himself, not open heart surgery.

“Latte,” he manages. “Extra, uhh, froth,” he adds, because that’s his order, what are you going to do? And the waitress bobs some sort of weird curtsey and scuttles away. She probably did a better job of flirting than Liam could do, he thinks pitifully. 

“So you’re a sir now huh?” Zayn says with a slight smirk, and Liam flushes under his shirt. Maybe he wouldn’t hate being called sir so much if it was coming from Zayn’s mouth, he thinks, then quickly represses that thought. Or saves it up for later. 

“Definitely not,” Liam says firmly, but smiles, trying to make out like he’s not having an internal meltdown.

“Sorry you got set up,” Zayn says after a pause, drawing Liam’s attention away from the fact that it’s just him and Zayn, just like it used to be, and things still feel the same to Liam. He shakes his head quickly.

“I should’ve known,” he says grimly. Then, realising he’s probably the most miserable bastard Zayn could possibly be having coffee with right now, adds “and anyway, I don’t mind.”

“You’re still gonna give Louis shit for it though, right?” Zayn says with that all-knowing smile of his, and just like that Liam is 18 again, so in sync with another person he wonders how he ever functioned without them.

“Absolutely. Might even make up a subpoena for him, tax evasion down at the footie club or something. Get him put away for a bit.” Liam says it like he’s just kidding. And he is….kind of. 

“Using your powers for evil, Liam, what would Clark Kent say?” Zayn says with a smile and a raise of his eyebrow. 

It’s not a good time for their waitress to come back with their coffees; with one look at Zayn’s face she spills half of Liam’s into the saucer, then scurries away without even apologizing. 

“I’m just being resourceful,” Liam says in his own defense, and Zayn laughs. 

Liam marvels, because he can still do that. Can still make Zayn laugh. He’s adding that to his list of life achievements so far: being called to the bar, marrying a girl way out of his league (then divorcing her), and making Zayn Malik laugh in an anonymous coffee shop on a Wednesday afternoon. 

They talk easily, Zayn steering the conversation away from marriage or kids and managing to draw Liam’s attention away from memories of Sophia making fun of his milk mustache when they drank coffee, and the way she complained about all the sugar he added to it. 

Everything comes rushing back to Liam – the way Zayn sits so still you’d think he was dead when he listens, rather than fidgeting like Harry or Louis. His thick accent, the way his fingers tap on the table when he’s thinking, and his smell. Liam thinks about how you never realize you missed something until you have it again – the sharp tang of Zayn’s cologne has Liam reeling even though they’re sitting at least a foot apart.

Despite the fact that Liam feels like he’s right back where he was in high school, head over heels in love with the boy in the back of his English class, he finds out frustratingly little about Zayn’s life over the last fifteen years – he designs book covers, has just moved to London in the last year, and, as far as Liam can tell, isn’t married. At least, he isn’t wearing a ring and never mentions a wife (or husband, or boyfriend, or girlfriend). They talk about small things, which to Liam is somehow enough. The conversation weaves around work and football and their friends – Liam has plenty of stories from living with Harry and Nick for the last six months – until Zayn suddenly glances at his phone (he doesn’t wear a watch, Liam notices) and jumps.

“Shit, Liam, I’ve gotta go. The girls finish preschool at 4.” 

The girls? Liam’s head is spinning as Zayn shrugs on his coat and fishes his keys out of the pocket. Zayn’s girls? Zayn has girls? Girls who are in preschool? Zayn has….kids?

Liam’s inner turmoil must be written all over his face, because Zayn’s expression softens and he pauses for a second.

“You wanna come with me to pick them up? They’ll really like you, I promise.” Liam is really not sure how to deal with that, and all he can do is gulp, nod, and stumble to his feet, grabbing his suit jacket and keys and following Zayn numbly out the door. 

Kids means marriage, or at least commitment to someone. Obviously Liam has no idea where this reunion with Zayn is going, or even where he wants it to go, but he knows that the idea of Zayn having someone in his life, someone he’s made no-doubt beautiful babies with, makes his stomach tie up in knots.

Zayn offers to take Liam with him to pick the girls up and drop him off at his car later, which, although making perfect logical sense, throws Liam completely off his guard. Is Zayn really that eager for Liam to meet his kids? He feigns normality as he slides into Zayn’s passenger seat, and tries not to fumble with his seatbelt. It’s mostly silent on the drive to the preschool, although Liam wants to ask a thousand burning questions – how many kids are there, what are their names, do they have their father’s eyes? 

When Zayn pulls up at the nursery, two little girls with long, curly black hair and eyes the colour of burnt caramel run up to Zayn before he’s even properly out of the car, and yeah, they’re Zayn’s kids. Liam watches, frozen in his seat, as Zayn scoops both of them up, one in each arm, and kisses them both on the cheek. One can’t be older than 2, the other one looks about 4, and they remind Liam so much of Zayn’s little cousins when he was in high school his chest hurts.

Then the car is filled with noise as Zayn gets the girls into the backseat, raising his voice above their excited chatter to remind Aafiya – the older one – to put her seatbelt on while he coaxes Laila - the little one clinging to Zayn’s collar like her life depends on it – to let go of him so he can strap her into her car seat. 

Liam is completely overwhelmed watching the care Zayn takes with them, the way his soft eyes light up and spark when he talks to them, taking their little stories and complaints so seriously Liam could cry. Zayn’s eyes flit sideways at Liam as he slides back into the driver’s seat and he must read Liam’s expression, because his mouth twists in worry. 

“You ok?” he mouths, and Liam has just enough sense left in him to nod. Zayn nods back, and turns to look at Aafiya and Laila, who are bickering over whose coloured drawing is better. 

“Girls,” he says, voice warm but firm, “this is my friend Liam. Say hi.”

“Hello!” says Aafiya brightly, while Laila mumbles a shy “Hi.” Liam smiles at them, barely able to believe how like Zayn they are, and reaches out to shake Aafiya’s hand which she extends from the backseat.

“Very nice to meet you,” he says, trying to school his voice into some semblance of normality. Aafiya, at least, seems satisfied with his greeting, while Laila eyes him carefully, her chin tucked into her chest. Liam’s heart swells at the sight of them; they’re Zayn’s, completely and utterly, and he aches at the thought that he could – one day – have that himself. Someone of his own, who is utterly in tune with him, who he can watch grow into their own person under his guidance, who he will know for the rest of his life.

Then he looks over at Zayn from the passenger side and his breath catches in his throat when he realizes that’s exactly what he has, sitting right across from him.

It’s too much for right now, so he stares straight ahead at the road in front of them as Zayn drives him back to his car, hearing the chatter of the girls from the backseat fill him up. The sound of all the small things that seem so big to children – a teacher’s mean remarks, what they ate for lunch, the colour of their favourite felt pen – reminds Liam how it feels to have something that matters to him. 

//

Liam is going through case files at his desk the next day, counting down the last couple of hours until he can knock off, when his cellphone rings. 

“Liam Payne speaking,” he answers, trying to remember if it’s his or Harry’s turn to cook tonight.

“Liam, hey, it’s Zayn.” He sounds rushed, his voice tight and worried. Liam’s heartbeat automatically picks up a few paces.

“Zayn? Everything alright?” He remembers the way they’d said goodbye yesterday in Zayn’s car, Liam trying to read the other man’s face, to see if there was anything new there he hadn’t seen in the coffee shop. 

“Um – well, no. Not really. I’m so sorry, but I need a HUGE favour.” 

Liam’s throat is dry. Zayn has been back in his life less than two weeks, and Liam is the one he calls when he needs a favour. Liam tries not to think about how warm that makes him feel.

“Sure, anything you need.” He hates how that sounds, but even more than that he hates how true it is.

“Well, it’s the girls. They finish preschool at 4, and usually their mum picks them up on Thursdays so I made an appointment with a client at 4:30, but Perrie’s f – she’s not being very helpful right now. And Aafiya has ballet at 5:00 and she won’t talk to me for the next week if she has to miss it and Niall’s up in fucking Northampton and –“

“Zayn, calm down,” Liam says, trying to keep his voice steady when his own mind is racing. 

“Sorry, I just – I didn’t know who else to call.” Liam stares intently at the fountain pen on his desk and refuses to think about the implications of that.

“What do you need me to do?” he asks softly.

//

And so Liam finds himself in a little girls’ changing room, surrounded by pink leotards and the cloying smell of hairspray, one eye on Laila sitting quietly on a bench, the other on Aafiya’s full head of curly, dark hair. He’d managed to help her into her little outfit, the pale pink tights, leotard and skirt, and slipped her tiny leather slippers onto her feet while she babbled about the show they were practicing for. 

He’s about to tell Aafiya she’s all ready when he looks around and notices the other little girls all have their hair in neat buns, sprayed back so tight it looks painful. Sighing, he rummages around in the bag Aafiya had brought to preschool with her until he finds a hairbrush and some pins. She looks at him with such trust when she holds out the hairband from around her plait that he doesn’t want to let her down.

Liam is close to screaming now though, as Aafiya’s thick hair slips like water through his fingers, refusing to comply with the pins he keeps sticking in it valiantly.

“Ow!” Aafiya squeals as he accidentally digs one into her scalp, and he winces as some of the mothers in the room look up. Aafiya turns to face him, and he panics when he sees tears streaking her face.

“Daddy always does it gently,” she says, her usually sunny face clouded over with a pout. Liam grits his teeth, then bends down to her level to wipe away the tears.

“Sorry babe,” he says, stroking her hair gently. “Let me try again, yeah? Promise I’ll be gentle.” She nods slowly, still pouting, and he leads her over to the bench where Laila is sitting, sucking her thumb. He sits down, pulling Aafiya into his lap, and gently brushes her hair all off her face, twisting it into the best bun he can manage and securing it with pins. He can’t bear the thought of spraying all those chemicals into her lovely soft hair, so he prays that it stays in place and sets her down on the floor, watching her run off with the other little girls in her class as the teacher calls them into the dance studio.

Liam lets out a breath once they’re all gone and the mothers have drifted into the studio to watch the lesson. He’s barely had time to stop and take everything in since he left his office in a rush an hour ago, telling his secretary he was unavailable for the rest of the day. On the way to the preschool he’d realized he had no car seat for Laila, and Zayn obviously had his car at work, so he’d rashly stopped at a store on the way and bought one. Because, you know, what 35-year-old recently divorced lawyer doesn’t need a car seat in the back of his Range Rover?

It had taken some coaxing to get the girls into the car, but once he’d promised Aafiya that she wouldn’t miss ballet and that Zayn would meet them after the lesson, they complied happily as Liam fastened their seatbelts for them. 

Liam hears the light tinkling of a piano in the next room, and lifts Laila onto his right hip, carrying her into the ballet studio where he sees the seats set up for parents. And newly-reunited-ex-boyfriends-of-parents, he supposes, as he sits down with Laila against his chest. 

He revels in the little girl’s weight and her warmth against his legs and stomach, marveling at how small and yet how real and alive she is – every wriggle, every breath, every blink of her huge brown eyes fascinates him. He imagines creating this kind of life, watching his own flesh and blood blinking back at him, and it makes the air rush out of his lungs. 

By the end of the class, Liam realizes Laila’s fallen asleep, her chin tucked sweetly into her chest and her fingers curled into Liam’s shirt. Aafiya runs over to him and starts gabbling excitedly about her favourite parts of the dance, and Liam pinches her cheek and tells her he thought she was the best in the class. He would have no idea what would constitute a good ballerina, particularly one who’s only 4 years old, but knowing Zayn and the way he was always good at everything he tried, from art to football, Aafiya is probably destined to be the next Margot Fonteyn. 

Liam gently shifts Laila from his lap onto his hip, trying not to wake her, and feels her curl more tightly into his side. With his other hand he holds Aafiya’s as she skips with him out to the car, this time getting into the backseat willingly and doing up her own seatbelt. Liam can’t help but feel his chest ache with fondness and something pretty close to pride as he buckles Laila, still fast asleep, into the car seat he’d bought earlier. Just as Liam dares to think it might come in handy again after today, he stomps the thought down, brushing it to the back of his mind. He’s just helping a friend out, he tells himself; it doesn’t mean anything. 

//

Zayn’s still out when Liam pulls into his driveway a little later, but he said he might not get home till after 6, so Liam’s not worried. He glances in the rear view mirror to see that both little girls have fallen asleep, and smiles a little to himself. He feels younger than he has in years, despite the fact that he’s been looking after two kids all afternoon, and he wonders if this is what real happiness feels like: nothing more than two small heartbeats against his chest as he carries both the girls to the front door. He’d unlocked it with the spare key Zayn told him was under the potplant next to the door, before gently extracting the girls from their seatbelts and carrying them inside to the couch. Aafiya grumbles a little in her sleep as he lays her down, and he has to physically extract Laila’s fingers from his shirt, but once they’re lying there, their two little bodies curled up neatly, they don’t stir again. Liam stands there for a moment and doesn’t know what to do with his hands – he’s heard the saying that kids are most loveable when they’re asleep, but now that he doesn’t have Aafiya’s chatty little voice in his ear or Laila’s wide eyes gazing up at his, he’s at a loss. He almost wants to wake them up to play, like he’s some kind of puppy who craves attention all the time, but he shakes the thought out of his head immediately, and leaves them to sleep. 

He’s standing in the middle of Zayn’s kitchen, wondering whether to make dinner for when the girls wake up or Zayn gets home, whichever comes first, when he’s suddenly hit with a flood of memories.

He and Zayn sneaking downstairs from Liam’s room into his parents’ kitchen, making peanut butter and jam sandwiches at midnight while the rest of the house slept, suppressing laughter when Liam dripped jam on his pants and gently shoving each other as they tiptoed back up the stairs, remembering to skip the fourth one because it creaked. Zayn giving Liam his crusts because he didn’t like them, and Liam kissing him after they’d eaten and tasting the sweet jam on his tongue, then falling asleep in a pile of arms and legs.

Liam jumps as he hears the front door open, and then Zayn’s standing in the kitchen in front of him, looking drained. 

“Liam, oh my god, thank y-“

“Don’t worry about it Zayn,” Liam says quietly, not wanting to wake the girls. “They’re asleep on the couch,” he adds, a touch of sheepishness creeping into his voice when he realizes maybe he was supposed to put them to bed, give them a bath or something before just dumping them on the couch. But a soft smile spreads across Zayn’s face and he pads softly into the living room, while Liam stays in the kitchen, feeling small and wistful when it hits him that he’s the intruder here. He’s the one who doesn’t belong to this quiet sphere of comfort and family. He shrinks back against the bench as Zayn walks back in, his body feeling too big for the small space.

“They’re out to it,” Zayn says, grinning, and Liam allows himself a second to feel proud before Zayn speaks again. “What did you do to tire them out so much?”

Liam flounders. “I – we just went to ballet, Laila fell asleep on my lap, and then after we were just driving, and Aafiya –“ he pulls up short when he realizes Zayn is laughing.

“Li, don’t sound so worried. Actually I’m impressed! I’m guessing it’s because you didn’t give Aafiya her usual post-ballet ice cream?” 

Liam’s heart has descended to around the vicinity of his stomach. His pride has vaporized completely.

“I’m sorry, I – I didn’t know it was a thing, I –“

“Liam, god, calm down. It’s a good thing! I can just never say no to her, even though I really should. Ice cream has her bouncing off the walls till, like, 9 o clock, and she never wants her dinner after. But I just can’t resist that face…” Zayn is still smiling, and Liam can see his point. Zayn sometimes has the same effect on Liam.

“To be fair, if she’d asked, I definitely wouldn’t have said no,” Liam says, feeling slightly better. 

“She didn’t even ask?” Zayn said, a tinge of awe in his voice, and Liam is completely lost. Is that some kind of impossible feat, not being asked for ice cream by a child? He feels the pride returning. 

“No? She just talked about their dance recital the whole time until she fell asleep.”

“You’re amazing,” Zayn says quietly, and Liam is not entirely sure what to do with that statement. Especially coming from Zayn. So he does what he does best, and starts blabbering on about nothing so that Zayn hopefully won’t notice the something that Liam actually wants to say.

“Anyway I wasn’t sure whether to cook dinner or not, I could still make you something if you want? Leave some for when the girls wake up? Do you have any wine? Or I could just go, you look tired, I’m –“

“Li,” Zayn says, the nickname bringing back memories of late nights under the bridge in their hometown and flannelette sheets in the winter. 

Somehow Zayn has crossed the kitchen without Liam noticing and all of a sudden he’s crowded up against the bench, close enough to notice the million different shades of brown in Zayn’s eyes. It’s a little overwhelming, if Liam’s honest.

“You think too much,” Zayn tells him.

“Sorry?” Liam says, because apologizing is what he does second-best, after talking too much.

“And you’re always apologizing,” Zayn says with a smile, putting a hand on Liam’s arm, “when you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Liam thinks his brain may be about to short-circuit.

“I guess I won’t apologise for always apologizing then….” Liam says with some difficulty, as his heart is taking up most of the room in his windpipe and making it hard to speak. Zayn rolls his eyes, grin spreading across his face.

“No,” Zayn says, “just stop talking, just please sto-“ 

So Liam kisses him. He doesn’t know why and he certainly doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but it’s happening before he can stop himself. He feels 18 again, young and reckless, capable of anything (which, apparently, includes kissing Zayn). Zayn’s hand tightens on Liam’s arm and he leans in, pressing Liam harder against the counter. Zayn is kissing him back, Liam thinks to himself, and that does something strange to his internal organs. 

It’s probably a good thing that Liam is hyper-aware of everything right now – the graze of Zayn’s stubble against his cheek, the way Zayn’s thighs are pressed flush against his, the slightly smoky taste of his mouth – because otherwise he wouldn’t hear tiny footsteps approaching the kitchen. Just in time, he pulls away from Zayn to see Aafiya toddling into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Baba?” she says, her voice small and lost-sounding. Zayn goes to her immediately, not sparing a look at Liam, and scoops her up, peppering her face with kisses.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says into her hair, and Liam feels like he should look away, feels, again, like he’s intruding. “Did you enjoy your afternoon with Liam?” She nods sleepily, and Zayn starts carrying her out of the room. 

Liam watches them go with a weight in his chest that feels kind of like homesickness. 

He hears Laila start to grizzle in the living room – she must have woken up and realized everyone was gone – so Liam goes in and scoops her up, whispering soothingly in her ear. She goes soft against him, her chubby little fingers clutching the collar of his shirt tightly, murmuring sleep-dazed nothings into Liam’s shoulder. He knots his fingers in her hair, more for his own comfort than hers, feeling how soft and warm it is against his fingers.

He remembers dragging his fingers slowly through Zayn’s hair on nights they were both too hot to sleep, remembers how thick it was, how his fingers often caught in the knots and dragged against Zayn’s scalp so that he’d wince. 

Liam hears Zayn talking to Aafiya in a low voice through the door of the girls’ bedroom, and hesitates outside. Laila seems to recognize her dad’s quiet, distinctly Northern tone though, and she lifts her head a little.

“Baba?” she asks, her voice coated in sleep. 

“In here, Li,” Zayn calls softly, as if he knows that Liam’s waiting outside the door. 

Ignoring the growing tightness in his chest, Liam pushes open the door to see Zayn sitting next to Aafiya on her bed, and Laila’s cot against the other wall. The room is dark except for a Tinkerbelle-shaped night light on the wall next to Aafiya’s bed, illuminating the pale yellow walls and the girls’ pink bedspreads. 

Liam looks around the room while Zayn pulls down one side of the cot, noticing the walls covered in pictures the girls have drawn at preschool, photos of them with Zayn and their mum, and one of the two girls in the bath, their soapy hair shaped into little mohawks, huge grins plastered across their faces. 

He sits down on the edge of the cot, Laila nodding off against his chest, while Zayn gets her pajamas from the dresser in the corner. Liam watches him quietly while he pulls off Laila’s shoes, leggings and tee shirt, his hands brushing Liam’s thigh once, and slips on the blue flannelette PJs with pictures of the snowman from Frozen on them. Then Zayn kisses Laila once on the forehead, and Liam wants to write an entire album of songs about the way Zayn’s eyelashes fan out across his cheek when he closes his eyes. 

Once he’s recovered enough to stand, Liam lays Laila carefully down in her cot; she’s almost too big for it, but she curls up comfortably around her teddy as Liam pulls the blanket over her. He can feel Zayn standing behind him, watching, and it’s almost too much, it feels like Liam is the other parent, like he and Zayn are putting their kids to bed, like they’re about to go to their own room and curl up together and say goodnight like they always have.

But they’re not. Liam’s the intruder here, and he knows it when Laila whines softly, half-asleep, and Zayn goes over to her to stroke her forehead and kiss her again. Liam steps back slowly, feeling too big for the room with the little beds and the pale walls, like a bull in a china shop. He wishes he could sink down into the carpet, but then Zayn’s turning around, taking his arm, and leading him out of the room. 

The atmosphere is considerably lighter outside the girls’ room, and Liam lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. He follows Zayn silently back to the kitchen, watches while Zayn pours two glasses of wine and feels only slightly self-conscious.

Zayn carries the wine through to the living room and sits down on the couch, Liam following behind him and sitting with his knees together so his limbs don’t overflow into Zayn’s space. He takes the glass of wine that Zayn silently hands him, his mind like a stuck record when he tries to think of something to say that will fill the silence, which almost seems solid between them.

He notices again how tired Zayn looks, remembers his rushed tone on the phone earlier when he’d asked Liam to pick the girls up, and looks at him closely.

“You ok?” he asks gently, watching Zayn’s throat flex as he takes a deep sip of his wine. He seems about to give the standard answer, some version of “I’m fine”, the one Liam has been handing out left and right centre for the last few weeks, but then Zayn gives a tiny shake of his head and seems to think better of it. 

“I just feel so bad for them,” Zayn says, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “It’s been so, so hard on them, and I just – I want better for them. I don’t want them to grow up remembering that their dad couldn’t be there, for whatever reason, and their mum was too busy with her new fiancé to be there either.“ Zayn’s voice has a tinge of bitterness to it, and Liam is struggling to pull air into his lungs. He thinks for a second that Zayn is going to continue, but the other man just looks despondently down into his wine glass as if it holds the answer to all his worries. Liam has thought the same thing numerous times, if he’s honest.

When he realizes Zayn is done speaking, Liam knows that it’s his turn to say something. Only, he has nothing in his mind that can calm Zayn’s fears, because they’re fears that Liam’s never had to face. 

Then he thinks of lying awake in bed alone, paralysed by the fear that he might never find someone to love him back, he may never get to see his own face reflected in his children’s eyes, he won’t have someone to experience the rest of his life with. Shaking with terror because what was the point, really, if he couldn’t share his career highs, his I-wish-I-never-got-out-of-bed days and his 3am thoughts with another person?

“Zayn I – I know it’s terrifying. I can’t even imagine what it’s like having kids and going through all this; I wish I did, but…well. If it makes you feel better, from what I’ve seen you’re an amazing dad. Your kids adore you. Aafiya looked at me today like I was dirt on the bottom of her shoe ‘cos I couldn’t do her hair like you can. Whatever their mum has going on isn’t your fault, don’t feel like you have to do the job of both parents. That’s not fair.”

Liam feels resentment towards the girls’ mother build in his chest, and he wills it to go away – he doesn’t want to be that guy – but it won’t subside. Anyone who, for one, doesn’t want to support Zayn in any way they can, and secondly doesn’t have time for two angels like Aafiya and Laila is not a good person in Liam’s books. He starts concocting ways he can make her life a legal hell. Most people have avoided completing a tax summary at some point in their lives…

His evil-lawyer train of thought is interrupted by a long sigh from Zayn, and part of Liam just wants to reach out and touch his arm, stroke his back, anything to reassure him that he’s not a parental failure.

“I don’t blame Perrie, I really don’t,” Zayn says resignedly. “She deserves to be happy, she really does, so it’s not like I resent her for that. And Josh already has a boy of his own, so she’s probably tied up with that, plus planning the wedding and this new job...I dunno I just – I want the best for them, and sometimes I feel like my best isn’t good enough.”

Liam hates how Zayn sounds then, defeated and empty, like he’s losing grip on everything that keeps him going. And Liam knows that feeling all too well, knows the pain of trying to find something to fill you up again after the emptiness sets in. 

Instinctively, he reaches out to cover Zayn’s hand with his own, resting lightly on Zayn’s thigh. Zayn flinches a little, and Liam goes to draw back, but then Zayn links their thumbs together, the tiniest gesture, and Liam relaxes a quarter of an inch. 

“You are more than enough,” Liam says quietly, because it’s the only way he knows how to tell Zayn all the ways he measures up.

Zayn doesn’t respond, so Liam just sits there, fingers tingling from the contact with Zayn’s skin, and lets the silence settle around them. He tries to find comfort in it, to hear what isn’t being said above the white noise of quiet that fills the room, but he isn’t sure what to make of it. When Zayn’s fingers go slack beneath his, Liam looks over and notices he’s fallen asleep. His chest is rising and falling gently, his chin tucked into his collarbone just like Laila in the back of the car. 

Carefully, like Zayn is made of paper and not flesh and bone, Liam detaches his hand from the other man’s, sets their wine glasses on the coffee table, arranges Zayn gently so he’s lying down, his head against the cushion at one of the couch, and tucks him in with the blanket draped over the headrest. 

Desperately, Liam wants to kiss Zayn, with his mouth slightly slack in sleep and his face half squashed against the cushion. Instead, he takes the wine glasses, puts them in the dishwasher, lets himself out, and drives home, determinedly not looking at the empty car seat in the rear view mirror.

//

They fall into a kind of routine. Liam picks the girls up from preschool once or twice a week, when Zayn has to work late and Perrie or Niall are both busy. He takes them to ballet or swimming lessons or to the park when it’s warm enough, struggles with hairpins and goggles and ice cream running down chins. He brings them home just before Zayn gets in, makes them a bit of dinner or picks something up on the way, always making sure there’s leftovers for Zayn because Zayn forgets to eat when he’s stressed. 

Sometimes Niall comes too, because he’s Zayn’s best mate, after all, and the girls are besotted with him. He always has presents for them – a new colouring book, a DVD, or their favorite raspberry sweets. Liam feels like he can’t keep up, between Zayn’s fatherly devotion and Niall who plays the cool-uncle-who-makes-age-inappropriate-jokes; Liam feels like he doesn’t have much to offer except his time. 

He doesn’t know quite where he stands with the girls – or with Zayn, for that matter, but he tries not to think about that too much – but he starts to notice that every time they see him their little faces light up, and Aafiya squeezes his hand while they’re walking through the park and Laila gets comfortable enough to fall asleep on his lap halfway through Frozen (for the eighteenth time). Liam can’t help but feel like he fits, in some jagged, last-piece-of-the-puzzle-that-was-hidden-under-the-couch kind of way.

//

One night, Zayn is extra late home, and Liam’s given the girls their dinner, leaving Zayn’s on a plate in the oven. He gives the girls their bath, pretending that the bath is a pirate ship on the high seas, and the girls are searching for lost treasure. Then Liam, the Giant Squid of the Pacific, capzises their ship and wraps them up in warm fluffy towels, both Aafiya and Laila shrieking and giggling as Liam rubs them dry and changes them into their pajamas. 

When Aafiya reaches up grabby little hands from her bed for a goodnight kiss, Liam feels like he’s floating about an inch off the floor; he feels, finally, like he belongs, and it feels like the last piece of a 1000 part jigsaw fitting snugly into place. He kisses Aafiya’s forehead, then Laila’s, then leaves their door open an inch or so like Zayn always does. 

He pauses in the kitchen, feeling small in the midst of Zayn’s house and in the presence of his own memories which come flooding back to haunt him. He walks the house like a ghost, looking at photo frames of when Zayn was younger – small and wiry under basketball singlets and tough in leather jackets and skinny jeans. There’s photos of his and Perrie’s wedding, both of them glowing with that invincible feeling that this is forever – Liam remembers it painfully well. 

He thinks of the photo frames packed in boxes in Harry and Nick’s closet and all the tiny parts of his life that have got him to this point, and he wonders when Zayn became the biggest one of them all. 

Because as much as Liam loves looking after the girls, as much as he revels in being part of their life and seeing them unfurl like little spring buds right before his eyes, its Zayn that he’s doing it for. It’s so that he can see Zayn in the evenings when he comes home, exhausted from long meetings or buoyed up from a productive day, Liam doesn’t seem to care which. All that matters is that Zayn’s opened up to him again, Zayn reminds Liam more of his old self, Liam’s Zayn, every day. 

Liam startles when he hears the front door open, and makes his way back through the house to meet Zayn in the kitchen. Zayn stares at him like he really is a ghost, and Liam pauses in the doorway. 

They’ve never really discussed what they are to each other. Liam always insists he’s just helping out a friend when Louis or Harry asks, but he knows, somehow, it’s more than that. It’ll always be more with Zayn, Liam thinks, no matter how old they get or how many planes he has to catch to see Zayn. And when he sees Zayn now, slender and delicate in the kitchen, loose strands of hair falling around his face and his eyes still the deep, warm hues of brown that Liam always associates with chocolate ice cream and sleepless summer nights, he remembers what It feels like to love this man.

“Hey,” Liam says softly, not entirely trusting his voice not to give away everything that’s going through his head.

“Hey,” Zayn replies, his voice hoarse and tired. Liam thinks of running a bath, giving Zayn a massage, lighting candles and putting his mouth all over Zayn’s skin, but he’s not sure Zayn’s there yet. 

“Your dinner’s in the oven,” Liam says, hoping it’s enough. 

Zayn gives him a strange look, and Liam’s first instinct is to take a step back. He feels like he’s done something wrong, but he doesn’t know what.

“Thanks,” Zayn says, and he sounds so desperately tired that Liam wants to tuck him into bed like he just did to Laila and Aafiya. “Not really hungry though.”

“You need to eat, Z,” Liam says softly, not wanting to push him. Zayn is rattling round in the kitchen, hanging his keys on the hook, putting his dinner in the fridge, getting the girls’ breakfast ready for the morning – Cocoa Pops for Aafiya, Rice Krispies for Laila. 

“Think ‘m just gonna go to bed,” Zayn mumbles, not meeting Liam’s eye as he heads to the doorway where Liam’s standing. Liam stops him with a gentle hand on his chest.

“Zayn, you’ve gotta look after yourself first if you wanna look after the girls as well.”

Zayn looks at Liam like he’s slapped him across the face, and Liam feels the little pieces of his life start to crumble.

“Don’t you start as well,” he says, and Liam is terrified to hear Zayn’s voice choked with tears. “I can’t look after the girls, I’ve got too much on my plate, I’m never there, I’ve just got a constant rotation of fucking babysitters, and now you wanna babysit me as well, yeah? Well I don’t need it, Liam. I’m a fucking adult, ok? I can look after myself and my kids, alright, and I don’t need your help anymore.”

He spits the last part right in Liam’s face and then storms of in the direction of his bedroom. 

Liam is shaking, his heart beating frantically out of his chest. He feels so wretched and awful that he thinks about going after Zayn, apologizing, begging him to see that Liam doesn’t think any of that. He’s worried, that’s all. 

But he doesn’t go after Zayn, he turns on his heel and strides towards the door, trying not to look over his shoulder at Zayn’s house as he gets into his car, fumbles with the key in the ignition, and finally gets out of the driveway. He feels like he can’t possibly drive fast enough to get away from the feeling that Zayn doesn’t remember things the same way that Liam does. 

Liam’s memory of Zayn is a summer afternoon, scraping enough money together between them for ice creams and a pack of smokes, the window open in Liam’s room to entice a breeze inside. It’s midnight conversations and early morning kisses, still half asleep. It’s all the words Liam never knew how to say until he heard them from Zayn’s lips.

And Zayn’s memory of Liam is….well, that’s the problem. Liam has no idea. 

//

He ends up at Louis and Eleanor’s, even though it’s teatime and Harry had texted him asking if he was going to eat with them. 

He rings the doorbell and smiles sheepishly at Eleanor when she answers the door. She pulls him into a hug, and Liam figures he must look pretty bad if that’s her first reaction. 

“Louis!” she calls as she pulls Liam inside. “Liam’s here!”

She pats Liam’s arm as they reach the living room, where Louis is sprawled out on the couch in front of East Enders – he’s obsessed with that show, though Liam has no idea why – and then she leaves them to talk alone. Liam makes a note to remind Louis how lucky he is.

“Hey Li,” Louis says, patting the couch cushion next to him. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Liam says evasively. 

“Of course. Just thought you’d pop round to my house unannounced, right before I’m about to eat tea, because not much is happening. This makes perfect sense, Liam.” Liam sighs and rolls his eyes because Louis, as usual, is right. There’s no point denying it.

“It’s Zayn,” he says, wondering how to explain all this to Louis. 

“Really? NO!” Louis gasps sarcastically, and Liam shoves him with his shoulder. 

“Ok, ok. It’s just – he’s so frustrating. I’ve been helping him out a lot recently –“ 

“Oh, ‘helping him out’, is that what you call it?” Louis says suggestively, and Liam shoves him again. 

“You gonna listen or not? Cos I can just go talk to Harry…”

“I’m listening, I’m listening,” Louis says, folding his legs up beneath him like a cat.

“I’ve been helping him out with the girls and it’s been going really well, they seem to like me, but tonight he just – lost it at me. I was trying to tell him he needs to eat, he needs to look after himself so he can look after the girls – not that I think he can’t – and he took it as some kind of insult. Like I was trying to baby him, which I’m not, I’m just – I just worry about him, that’s all.” 

Louis nods sagely, and Liam wonders if he should tell him about the other stuff, that Liam thinks he might be in love with Zayn just the way he used to be, and that he’s terrified of losing Zayn a second time, but he doesn’t think he’s ready to share that yet. Not until he figures it out properly himself.

“You just have to let him come to you, Li. You know what Zayn’s like, he’s always had that whole pride thing where he has to do things himself or he gets all insecure about it.”

“He doesn’t mind when Niall helps him,” Liam says, before he can stop himself. He sounds like a petulant child, and he really hates it. Louis raises an eyebrow.

“Is that a hint of jealousy I detect, Mr Payne?” Liam folds his arms.

“I’m not jealous of Niall,” he says, and it’s true. 

“Right, cos Niall’s not fucking Zayn. He’s been spending entirely too much time with Alistair down at the club for that,” Louis says, and Liam leaps at the chance to change the subject.

“Really? The striker?”

“Yes, and I’m not happy about it. We’ve got our first pre-season match next weekend, and Gibney could really do without the distraction.”

“Maybe that’s why Niall hasn’t been taking the girls out as much,” Liam ponders, and realises he’s just brought the conversation straight back to himself.

“Maybe that’s not an accident…” Louis says thoughtfully. 

“Well no, it’s obviously so he can spend more time with Alistair.” Louis looks at him strangely.

“Maybe. Or maybe….it’s because he wants you to spend more time with the girls. And with Zayn.”

“Why would Niall want me to spend more time with Zayn?” Liam asks, but he can guess where Louis is going with this. He’s not sure he likes it.

“Hmm, why on earth would someone’s best friend want them to spend more time with the guy he’s still in love with? Gosh Liam, I’m stumped!”

This time Liam pushes him all the way off the couch, and Louis lands on the carpet with an undignified squawk. At that moment, Eleanor walks in with an apron on, and looks at the two of them with one eyebrow raised. 

“I take it you’re staying for dinner Liam?”

“No no, it’s fine, I was just about to head home. This one’s been absolutely no help,” Liam says, jerking a thumb at Louis, who is still lying awkwardly on the ground.

“You’re the one going around telling people they need to eat and look after themselves mate, maybe you need to take a leaf out of your own book,” Louis says, picking himself up delicately and clapping Liam on the shoulder. He can’t really deny that, so Liam shrugs at Eleanor and smiles.

“I guess I can stay then.”

2011

“Liam, are you ok?” asks Harry once they’re out of earshot of Zayn and Niall.

“Hm? Yeah. Well, not really. I don't know.”

“You looked totally out of it.”

“Harry, are you completely thick?”

“Why?”

“Could you really not see it? He and Zayn did not stop staring at each other literally that whole time,” says Louis matter of factly. Liam feels the familiar fuchsia returning.

“Really? The new guy? I lost interest as soon as I found out he smokes.”

“It’s hot,” protests Liam quietly. So, the new boy at their school might have a bad habit of chain smoking and his blazer might smell of stale nicotine, but if Liam could just take the cigarette out of his hand, lace his fingers through Zayn’s instead….god, what is wrong with him?

“Oh is it?” says Harry with a smirk, finally catching on. “Fresh blood eh Li...”

“Shut up! You have to admit he's bloody fit,” Liam is finally recovering some of his normal vocabulary, at least. 

“Sure... if you're into that –“

“Which you obviously are.”

“I just think he's - shit...” Liam can’t even finish the sentence; he doesn’t know how to, and he doesn’t think he wants Louis and Harry knowing just how deep he’s in.

“So why didn't you get his number?” Louis demands.

“I couldn't! I literally couldn't move, let alone speak to him.”

“Shit Liam. You're in deep.” Nice move, Liam curses himself.

“I can't be can I? It's been like half an hour!”

“Half an hour of eye sex! If that shit had been physical, it would've been the most epic porn movie ever made.”

“Don't even talk about sex and him in the same sentence,” Liam groans, squeezing his eyes shut and trying, desperately, not to picture Zayn naked. It does not work. “I wish I'd done something about it. I'm always so shy in these situations.”

“Well, that's why you've got us,” Louis assures him firmly. “We can sort this out for you, with some very good consequences.”

“But first I'm buying you something to eat, you look like you're about to pass out.” Liam glances at both of them gratefully – no matter how good-looking Zayn is, nothing would ever beat having best friends like Louis and Harry.

Liam is still thoughtful, however, as they walk down the main street of their dozy little town with kebabs in hand, covered in sticky, slick grease. As it coats his hands and lips, Liam aches with the thought of Zayn, the possibility he holds; Liam barely knows him, of course he realizes that, but he’s so thrown by the impact Zayn had on him that he can’t deny the attraction between them. He doesn’t know what it is about Zayn that draws him so strongly – he’s completely unlike any other guy Liam’s ever dated (which, admittedly, isn’t many), but seeing his face swim into his vision now, he burns with a kind of longing that he’d thought only existed in the comics he reads, the films he watches. While he’s always read about love at first sight, he’s never come close to believing in it, but now that his cheeks are flushed and his forearms are tingling and his stomach is churning, he can’t help but wonder if he was wrong. The thought scares him, that he could fall so completely and so heavily for someone without even speaking a word to them, and for some reason Liam shivers with foreboding. Maybe he just needs to ease into this slowly, and not let Zayn’s olive-golden skin and dark, dark hair sweep him away. As he pulls himself back to reality and his friends’ conversation, he realises they’re voicing his thoughts exactly.

“You don’t want to rush into this, Li - he could be a mass-murderer,” Harry warns. Ok, not exactly his thoughts.

“He could be straight,” Louis suggests, as if that’s worse. 

“You know, there are like so many hot guys out there Li, and you could have any of them,” says Harry through a mouthful of kebab.

“Let’s be honest, we are all capable of pulling tens.” 

“But that doesn’t mean you have to settle for the first guy that comes along, Liam,” warns Harry, and Liam smiles, trying to be convinced.

“Yeah, although a little bit of flirting never hurt anyone,” says Louis, the king of flirtation himself. “He did look pretty happy to see you, if you know what I mean,” he adds, nudging Liam, who looks up, his heart still pounding like he’s just done eight laps of the school running track.

“Guys, stop,” he says, trying not to let himself get carried away. “I'm just going to let things take care of themselves. I don't want to push it or it’ll all turn to shit.”

“Ok. You just let things take care of themselves....”

“Or you could let us take care of them for you,” finishes Louis, with a sly smile at Harry.

“Hell no,” Liam says seriously. “You can’t say anything to anyone, especially not Niall or any of the guys, I will literally bury you. Don’t make me look like a dick, I haven’t even talked to him yet. If it’s meant to happen, it will happen.” Liam starts to panic at the thought of Zayn finding out about his stupid infatuation – which, he reminds himself, is precisely that: stupid.

“Liam, I'm not that blatant. In fact, I'm a master matchmaker,” says Louis firmly, and Harry nods vigorously. 

“Remember how we set you up with Mark?” Liam rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, cos that worked out just great....” 

“Well, it did to start with! It just didn’t end well, and that is not our problem,” Louis insists.

“So... what can you do then?”

“Liam, you have no idea how many strings there are available to us for pulling,” Louis tells him, with a secretive look at Harry. Liam honestly doesn’t know whether to feel excited about the fact that his friends are trying to help him out, or terrified that they’re going to ruin everything. He’s tempted to settle for the latter.

2028 

A week passes before Louis decides it’s time to take action. A whole week of listening to Liam complain about his boring job and his boring gym workouts and Harry and Nick being boring housemates, while he pretends he’s not having a mid-life crisis over Zayn and his daughters, is more than Louis can handle. 

As much as Louis loves to laugh with El and Harry about how oblivious Zayn and Liam are, there are only so many times Louis can listen to his best friend tell the story of how he got his millionaire client out of a lawsuit on a boring contract technicality, before he wants to rip his hair out. And Louis is quite attached to his hair, thank you very much.

So he calls Niall, because he knows Zayn the best, to talk about what needs to happen. Fate may have brought Zayn and Liam back together at the perfect time, but even Fate is no match for the stubbornness of those two. They need a nudge in the right direction. 

//

Niall is leaning against the bar when Louis arrives at the pub they agreed on, and he greets Louis with a nod of his head.

“Hey,” Niall says, then asks the bartender for two pints and leads Louis over to a booth in the corner. 

“Here we are again,” Niall says grimly, drumming his fingers on the table. Louis nods; he’s reminded almost exactly of trying to set Zayn and Liam up when they were younger, both of them convinced the other was out of their league. They’re in the same league alright; the League of Blind Idiots, Louis thinks.

“The things we go through for the sake of love,” Louis says, shaking his head, and Niall snorts.

The waitress sets two pints down on their table, and Niall winks at her.

“Aren’t you seeing Gibney?” Louis asks with narrowed eyes as Niall watches the waitress walk away, but the Irish man shrugs.

“Yeah, and?” Louis raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t need you taking up all of my striker’s time and distracting him from training if you’re gonna be flirting with every waitress in the greater London area at the same time.” It’s Niall’s turn to raise his brows.

“Who says I’m flirtin’?” Louis shakes his head. They’re getting sidetracked. As he and Niall tend to do; he’d forgotten how easy it was to talk to his old friend. 

“Never mind,” he says. “Here’s my theory. Zayn and Liam have re-developed feelings for each other due to my master matchmaking – well, that part’s not really a theory, more proven fact, actually – and Zayn’s being Zayn and having a freak out because he doesn’t think Liam has feelings back, and Liam’s being Liam and having a melt down because he thinks Zayn hates him.”

“Hit the nail on the head there mate,” Niall says, wiping the beer residue off his lips. “It’s like bloody high school all over again. Thought it might be easier this time ‘round, since we’re all adults, but the two of ‘em still seem to be actin’ thick as two short planks, so, as per, us two have to step in.”

“So, what do you propose we actually do?” Louis asks. This is where he needs Niall’s help – Louis would probably just plan another dinner to force the two of them into the same room, and seeing as Liam had practically stormed out last time, he didn’t think that was going to work again. 

“You know, I’ve thought about it, and I’ve come up with a plan.” Louis sits further forward on his seat, taking an excited sip of beer. 

“Do tell.”

“Well, first I thought we should set them up on another date, tell them it’s a group thing then all cancel, but I think they’re expecting that now. Plus, it’ll just turn them against us. We’re the good guys here.” Louis nods enthusiastically – great minds think alike. 

“So,” Niall continues, “We stay low key. We need to make them realise for themselves that they’re idiots for not getting together, like, yesterday. We need to make them irresistible to each other, basically.”

“So you’re saying we get them naked, oil them up and make them perform physical tasks in front of each other?” Louis asks excitedly, picturing the limitless potential for Liam’s embarrassment. 

“……not quite,” Niall says, and Louis decides he’ll work on slipping that idea into their plan by himself. “More like, we get them to sort their shit out so that they realize they actually do deserve each other. Zayn’s always on at me that he’s a mess, he can’t look after himself, can barely look after the girls, he’s behind on his mortgage payments blah blah blah, and Liam’s this Incredible Hulk of Perfection or summat.” 

“And Liam thinks he’s pathetic cos he lives in his friend’s spare room, he hates his job and he lost ‘the love of his life’ – don’t get me wrong, Sophia was great, but have you met Zayn?”

“Jesus Christ, those two are lucky they’ve got us. Right, so, phase one – I’ve just done up a flat for a client in Chelsea, and they want someone to move in ASAP. Liam’s the perfect candidate. Having his own place is gonna completely change things for him.”

“Plus he won’t have to listen to Harry and Nick have sex every night.” Niall screws up his nose.

“He tells you about that?” 

Louis shrugs. “I may as well be his counselor right now, Niall. I know a lot of things about Liam’s life that no man needs to know.”

“Jesus. We need to sort this out, ASAP.”

Louis couldn’t agree more.

//

Liam looks around him, at his life packed into boxes for the second time in as many months, ready to move into his new flat. A new beginning. 

It feels almost too new as he runs his hand along the polished granite bench top, his own reflection glinting at him from every shiny surface. There’s nowhere to hide here, and he’s not sure he’s ready for it. 

Louis and Niall both insist it’s for the best – a step in the right direction, getting things back to normal. And they’re right, Liam knows. It had been a temporary phase, living with Nick and Harry, he’s known that all along, and he’d thought he was ready to move on, but now that he’s here in this flat by himself, he’s not so sure. He wants Harry and Nick’s mindless rows back, the endless ribbing, Pig’s barks when Liam got home from work and Missy Elliot playing too loudly when Nick was getting ready for the night shift.

Instead, Liam is trapped in room after room of silence with all the ghosts he isn’t ready to face. 

//

He has a flatwarming, of sorts, at Louis and Niall’s behest. It’s really just dinner with Harry, Nick, Louis, Eleanor and Niall, and Liam doesn’t even cook. They all sit around the table that’s too big for one person and eat Chinese takeaway off plates that are more suited to a family of 6, not a bachelor. No one asks why Zayn isn’t invited, Liam drinks copious amounts of red wine, and he is barely coping.

Niall and Louis corner him while Liam’s rinsing the plates in the kitchen, and he wishes this wasn’t his own house so he had an excuse to leave.

“Liam, quick question,” Louis says in that tone of voice that tells Liam this is not, in fact, a quick question. “When are you going to stop being such an idiot?” Liam yanks open the dishwasher and starts stacking the plates loudly.

“When are you going to mind your own fucking business, Louis? Just wondering.”

“Woah woah woah, alright! Let me rephrase that for you. When are you going to realize that Zayn is not your enemy, and that you’ve done nothing to warrant avoiding him like he’s got the bubonic plague?”

“I liked the first phrasing better,” Niall says, and Liam sighs, turning around to face the other two.

“I’m not being an idiot, I’m giving Zayn his space because he’s just been through a divorce and he’s trying to minimize the impact of that on his two young kids. Plus, I’m trying to do my own damage control because I’ve just been through my own divorce, and if you hadn’t noticed, none of us are eighteen anymore, we can’t just jump into things like we used to.” Liam doesn’t believe a word that comes out of his own mouth, but being a lawyer, he’s good at this kind of thing.

“Definitely noticed the age difference,” Louis says, poking at the corners of Liam’s eyes where he KNOWS he does not have crows feet, ok, because he checks every morning in the mirror and he may or may not have asked Nick what brand of anti-ageing cream he uses. So sue him.

“Let me put it to you this way Liam. The universe is giving you a sign. A twenty foot high, flashing neon sign that says ‘Zayn and Liam should be together’. You can keep ignoring the sign all you want, but the universe is just gonna keep pushing you two together. You’ll be in adult nappies when you’re 80 and Zayn will come rolling into the dining room of your rest home all bald with no teeth, and maybe then you’ll realize you should’ve made a move sooner because you’ll be too old to have sex by then,” Louis says.

“You’re never too old to have sex,” Niall insists, then turns to Liam. “Come on mate, we all know what’s happening here. Stop acting dumb and make a move. Put everyone out of their misery – especially Zayn,” he pleads, and Liam reaches for the bottle of wine. He can’t remember where he left his glass, and he’s not sure he cares.

“Zayn is not in any misery without me,” Liam says, staring down the neck of the wine bottle and hoping he might just fall in.

“Have you seen him lately?” Niall asks, and Liam looks up at him.

“No.”

“He’s a bloody wreck mate. I ‘aven’t seen him like this since Pez left.” Liam bristles internally at the mention of her name and immediately hates himself for it. He reminds himself she’s not at fault here.

“And you’re no better,” Louis chips in, as if Liam needs reminding. “Moping round in this place like it’s a fucking morgue, when Niall did such a nice job,” Louis says, clapping Niall on the shoulder. Liam rolls his eyes. Louis may be right, but that doesn’t mean that Liam is going to admit to anything. 

“I still don’t see what you two have to do with any of this,” he says stubbornly, and then takes a sip from the bottle of Pinot he’s cradling, because he’s a grown man and he can make his own decisions.

“We’re your best mates,” Niall says with a shrug, “and we hate seeing you like this.” Liam feels his throat clench up, and it’s not from the sudden influx of alcohol. He feels like throwing his arms around Niall and sobbing for a bit, but he manages to keep it together. Just.

“Plus we’re suckers for fated romance,” Louis is saying, rubbing his palms together like Dr Evil. “This is like payback for high school when you always used to bloody meddle in me and Harry’s business.”

Harry and Louis had dated for about three months when they were sixteen, before they both realized they were too different, and agreed to stay friends. Unbelievably, it had actually worked.

“I did not meddle –“ Liam starts to protest, but Louis holds up a hand.

“And neither are we.”

“Just giving fate a little nudge in the right direction,” Niall says with a sideways look at Louis, and Louis shoots a finger gun at him.

“Exactly.” 

Liam just rolls his eyes. He’s 35 and he still doesn’t have control over his own life. He is destined to be a pawn in Louis Tomlinson’s game of love-chess for the rest of his life. He takes another gulp of wine.

2011

The party has well and truly started by the time they get there. Liam’s met most of the people there – Niall and Andy are running around in bare feet chasing two squealing girls who Liam recognises from school – Jade, and a blonde whose name he can’t remember; Louis and Nick, he guesses, are smoking outside; there’s a whole crowd of girls he's met in passing, who he knows are friends with Andy and co., and some boys who Liam doesn’t think go to their school – the kind who dropped out and now work in bars or cover bands, their skin strewn with tattoos and their hair freshly cut into mohawks. 

The first thing he does, after greeting the guys that Zayn introduces him to, is take him outside for a cigarette, and sure enough, Louis and Stan are already there.

“We'll leave you guys to it,” said Louis quickly, but Liam shakes his head.

“Not so fast.” 

Louis rolls his eyes, but slumps against the wall, wordlessly offering his packet of smokes to Liam and Zayn. Liam rolls the thin paper around in his fingers as he contemplates the best way to word what he wants to say to Louis, now that he has him well and truly cornered, and at least has Zayn (probably Stan too) to back him up if the shit hits the fan. Not that Liam can’t take Louis – he’s almost a head taller, plus he’s been working out more recently, while Louis swears he’ll never set foot in a gym.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Liam says softly, but Louis still won’t meet his eyes.

“Mean what?” says Louis in that infuriatingly superior tone he gets when he’s trying to avoid an issue. Liam sighs.

“You know exactly what I mean. I think you’re scared, Lou, and that’s fine, but what’s not fine is taking it out on Harry like this. You should’ve seen him this week, he’s been barely there. Skipping class, moping all day, sleeping in my bed every bloody night –“ Zayn makes a small growling sound in the back of his throat, and the hairs on Liam’s arms stand up. He stores that away for later, trying to focus on Louis and the task at hand. It’s no mean feat, with Zayn’s breath hot on the back of his neck and something – jealousy? – radiating off his skin. 

“You need to talk to him, Lou, this isn’t fair,” and finally Louis sighs and looks over at him.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him. But if he gets all stroppy and emotional and needy again, I’m done. Honestly Liam,” Louis continues, seeing Liam’s eyebrows shoot up, “I love that kid to bits, you know I do, but he does my head in sometimes.”

“He does all our heads in sometimes. But he needs you, Louis, and I know you need him as well. Just go talk to him, yeah?” Louis takes a last drag of his cigarette, long and hard, then flicks it away between thumb and forefinger. 

“Yeah, alright,” and he walks inside. Stan follows, giving Liam a slap on the shoulder and a wink as he goes. Liam flops against the wall, feeling like he’s just run a marathon. Harry owes him, big time.

“That was so hot,” Zayn breathes into Liam’s neck as he presses up against him, one hand in the belt loop of Liam’s jeans and one on the wall next to his face. “You should give out orders more often.” Liam’s body is physically becoming one with the wall; if Zayn doesn’t stop mouthing at his neck he’s going to be immortalized in stone in about seven seconds. 

“Oh yeah?” is all he can manage.

“Yeah,” Zayn said, his voice fringed with roughness and smoke, and Liam’s eyes almost roll out of his head as Zayn's hand slides up the back of his shirt, giving him shivers, and his other hand traces the edge of the waistband of his jeans, then down the front of his thigh, excruciatingly light. 

“Kiss me,” Liam says, trying to make it sound like an order and not succeeding very well. It works though; Zayn’s lips are smooth and hot on his, filling Liam’s mouth with the taste of vodka and smoke. He would happily die right there, breathless and trembling in Zayn's arms.

2028

The morning after his discussion with Louis and Niall, Liam drives around aimlessly for about two hours with the music up so loud it’s almost painful, wishing he could get on the freeway and just keep driving until he runs out of road. 

He keeps replaying Niall and Louis’ words over and over like a stuck record, but they’re not making any more sense than they did last night. Liam is not having a melt down because he thinks Zayn hates him; he’s just – dealing with problems the way any 35 year old would. 

Running away from them. Or driving, to be more exact.

He ends up back at his flat, but he can’t stand to look at himself reflected in the fridge door or the TV screen, so he goes straight to his room and collapses on the bed.

Logically, he knows things can’t be as simple as they were when he and Zayn were 18. They’ve both been through too much, have changed too much, for them to still be the same people they were in that sleepy town that feels light years away to Liam now. Zayn has kids, for Christ’s sake. 

But to Liam, when he’s with Zayn, he feels like nothing’s changed. Things are easy, and nothing feels like it’s been easy for Liam since he hit 27. He wants to hold onto that, despite how ridiculous it seems for Liam to still be in love with Zayn seventeen years later. But the feeling seems like it’s filling up the entire room, and Liam can’t push it down, no matter how hard he tries. 

//

He drives to Zayn’s.

He nearly turns the car around three times and is the cause of two near-accidents, and then he sits with the car idling on the street outside for twenty minutes before he convinces himself to go inside. But even if Zayn doesn’t feel the same, even if he tells Liam he doesn’t want him in his life anymore, Liam just needs to know. He needs to stop the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his chest when he thinks about not knowing, so he gets out of the car and walks up the driveway and knocks on the door.

Zayn answers with Laila on his shoulders and Aafiya wrapped around his leg, and Liam nearly loses it on the spot.

The laughter dies from Zayn’s eyes when he sees Liam, and Liam wishes he hadn’t come because his stomach has dropped down to his shoes from that one look.

Then – “Leeyum!” Aafiya squeals, and detaches herself from Zayn long enough to fling herself at Liam. He scoops her up, trying to remember a time when things were as simple as they are for four year olds, and failing.

“Hey,” says Zayn, and his voice is soft, making Liam’s heart hammer in his chest and hope start to gather in his bones. 

“Hey,” Liam replies, squeezing Aafiya tight because he forgot how much he’s missed them. 

“Come in, I was just making coffee.” So Liam follows Zayn inside, Aafiya chattering away happily in his ear like nothing’s wrong, and Liam tries to believe it.

“We’re watching Nemo, Leeyum, he’s lost and his daddy’s trying to find him! He found a friend though, her name’s Dory and –“

“Why don’t you take Laila and go finish watching the movie?” Zayn says to her gently, lifting Laila off his shoulders and putting her down. Liam places Aafiya’s little feet on the ground and watches her lead her sister into the living room by the hand, until he’s alone in the kitchen with Zayn.

Zayn’s shoulders are sharp and angular under a tee shirt and he’s cut his hair, looking more like Liam’s old Zayn than ever in trackies and socks. Liam suddenly remembers everything so vividly it hurts, and his vision blurs for a second as Zayn pours out the coffee.

Zayn’s lips chapped from the cold, his hand firm on Liam’s waist as they walk side by side, arguing about their favourite flavor of gum – peppermint or spearmint. Passing notes in class and leaving presents in each other’s locker, singing at the top of their lungs as the wind whisked their voices away, speeding at 90 miles an hour out of town but never fast enough to escape the feeling that this was all they would ever need.

Liam tries to hold onto that feeling with every ounce of his strength.

“Milk?” Zayn asks without turning around.

“Yes please.”

“Sugar?”

“Two, please.” Zayn stirs, then hands Liam a blue mug and sits down at the kitchen table. He looks smaller without the girls around.

Liam sits down across from him and thinks about where to start, but he can’t stop thinking about Zayn’s hands holding a can of spray paint under the bridge in the darkness. 

He and Zayn drink their coffee, and pretend not to look at each other.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says finally, because he can’t say I miss you when Zayn’s right there. “I was way too harsh on you last time I was here. I just came here to say – you’re a great dad, and your girls are amazing. Because of you.” 

Zayn stares down at his coffee. After a long pause, he speaks, slowly and carefully.

“I’m just scared, Liam. I’m scared of what will happen if you leave. I’m not even scared for me, but for them. If you come back and you’re part of their lives for a while and then one day you’re not, just like – just like their mum, I can’t do that to them. I can’t put them through that again.” Liam doesn’t know what to say to that. His hands are shaking.

“If you want me to stay, I’ll stay,” Liam says, hoping Zayn knows he means it. They’re both silent for what feels like hours, but it’s probably only a matter of seconds.

“I’m gonna lose the house,” Zayn says suddenly, and Liam looks up at him for the first time since he sat down. “I’m behind on the mortgage, and it’s only my name on the title now since the divorce was finalized and I …I can’t do it, I can’t keep it. Sometimes I think they may as well take the girls too – it’s useless Liam, what am I gonna do with them if I can’t even keep a roof over their head? They’d be better off -“

“Move in with me,” Liam blurts out, unable to listen to what Zayn’s saying. “I mean, you and the girls. You can come and stay with me, until you sort things out.” 

Zayn stares at him like he’s grown an extra head, and Liam immediately thinks he should take it back, tell Zayn to forget about it even though he knows neither of them will, and then he sees that Zayn is fighting back tears. 

Liam reaches out blindly to touch his arm, comfort him any way he can, and Zayn just folds in on himself, crumpling like a dry leaf in winter. Liam squeezes Zayn’s hand, his thumb rubbing over Zayn’s wrist and feeling the veins there like tiny rivers. Liam is unsure of everything except Zayn’s pulse against his thumb, and he holds onto that with everything he’s got.

//

Liam expects everything to happen all at once after that. He’s made his big dramatic gesture, and now things are supposed to just fall into place, like they do in the movies.

But, as it turns out, his life is not a movie, and things aren’t that simple. There are mortgage repayments to sort out and contracts to annul (Liam reassigns two of his major cases at work so he can help Zayn out with the house), and then there’s the fact that Zayn has three times more stuff than Liam does, and nowhere to put it in Liam’s two-bedroom bachelor pad.

Once they’ve moved everything in that they need and sold the rest at a garage sale, though, the place starts to feel a lot more like home to Liam. The coloured drawings by Laila and Aafiya stuck to the fridge, their DVD’s overflowing on the bookshelf and their two little beds in the spare room, grubby fingerprints on the usually shiny countertops and their toys in the bathroom surround Liam with a feeling of life, of really living in the place rather than haunting half-empty rooms.

Liam isn’t sure at first how to approach the subject of his and Zayn’s sleeping arrangements (Niall suggests he just lie naked on the bed with a rose in his mouth for when Zayn gets home and skip the conversation altogether). But he can’t bear the thought that Zayn thinks this is all a ruse to get him in bed with Liam, so he gives Zayn his bed and throws a duvet over the couch for himself. It’ll do, for now, until they figure out how permanent this is going to be and until he and Zayn actually discuss what’s happening between them. 

Liam hasn’t forgotten that kiss in Zayn’s kitchen, and he doesn’t miss the way Zayn looks at him across the dinner table at night while the girls fill the room with bright, endless chatter. And while he knows that he can never have what they had when they were 18, the feelings still seem the same to him. The thud in his chest when Zayn walks into the room and the warmth that pools in his stomach when Zayn’s arm brushes his are all too real.

//

Liam has had a week of sleepless nights on the couch by the time Friday rolls around, even though he’s exhausted from battling with Zayn’s mortgage brokers and he’d made three trips to their house to collect the rest of the girls’ things after work. He’s acutely aware of the three other heartbeats echoing around the walls of his apartment and the way that his own pulse seems to sync with theirs, all of them settling into a rhythm of their own that feels like it could go on forever.

Liam almost falls off the couch when Zayn appears in the doorway to the living room, wearing only a pair of boxers and ruffling his sleep-tousled hair. He walks over to Liam, who pulls his legs up so Zayn can sit next to him. Liam clears his throat as quietly as possible.

“Can’t sleep either?” he asks tentatively.

“Na.” Zayn’s hoarse voice cuts through the air that seems twice as thick as normal around them. “I keep thinking about how wrong it is that you’re sleeping out here and I’m in your room. We should swap,” Zayn says, his voice still wrapped in sleep.

“It’s fine Zayn. Just go back to bed,” Liam says gently, wanting to reach over and pull Zayn into his side. He looks so soft and warm, Liam can almost feel the heat radiating off his body. Zayn looks at him, his eyes slightly hooded, and Liam’s breath catches in his throat.

“Come with me,” Zayn says, then without another word, he’s tugging Liam to his feet, leading him down the hall and pulling him down onto the bed next to Zayn. Liam can’t breathe, he’s trying so hard not to completely let go and pull Zayn into the world’s softest kiss, but he needs Zayn to take the lead here, to show Liam what he’s comfortable with. 

Their bodies fit together exactly the same as they used to – Liam’s ankle crossed over Zayn’s, their knees pressed snugly together and the curve of Zayn’s back perfectly matched to Liam’s chest. Liam’s skin is literally on fire at every point that it touches Zayn’s (which, painfully, is almost everywhere). Zayn reaches back and grabs Liam’s hand, pulling it around his waist and settling closer to Liam, if that’s even possible. Liam finally releases the breath he’s been holding in, and lets himself have this moment. 

Just when Liam thinks Zayn’s asleep and his breathing evens out to long, measured inhales, he hears his voice, half-muffled by the pillow, through the dark.

“D’you think fate brought us back together?” Zayn murmurs sleepily. Liam smiles.

“If fate is a pushy short dude named Louis, then yes.”

Zayn huffs out a breath of laughter, then nestles closer into Liam’s chest.

“Thank god for Louis.”

//

Liam wakes up to an empty bed and the acrid smell of burnt toast. He’s wrapped up in the warm memory of Zayn’s breath on his neck and the distant knowledge that it’s Saturday, so he doesn’t have to go to work. 

He stretches, kicking the covers off in the process, and stares at the indent left by Zayn’s body. He wonders vaguely if he’d dreamed their short exchange last night about fate, but somehow he knows that’s not the case.

He goes into the kitchen to find Zayn hastily throwing blackened pieces of bread into the rubbish, clearly the source of the burnt smell pervading the house. Liam wants to wrap his arms around him from behind, nuzzle into his neck, feel his warm body pressed up against his again like it was all night, but somehow, in the light of day, he feels he’s not allowed to.

The faint sound of tinny music tells Liam that the girls are watching the morning cartoons next door in the lounge, and he pictures them sitting side by side in flannelette pajamas, their hair wild and curly from sleep and Laila’s thumb in her mouth.

Zayn turns around, looking disgruntled, and jumps slightly when he sees Liam. Liam grins at him.

“Trying to burn my house down?” he asks, and Zayn smiles softly, nudging him with his elbow as he walks past to wipe his hands at the sink.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I was trying to make you breakfast in bed but then I had to intervene in a cartoon-crisis. Can you believe they’d put Peppa Pig on at Dora’s normal time?” Liam takes a few steps over to where Zayn’s leaning against the bench and looks at him closely. The shadows are fading from around his eyes; they’re filled with laughter now as Zayn looks up at him.

“Outrageous,” Liam says, brushing his fingers under Zayn’s chin. “I’m gonna sue the network for sabotaging my breakfast in bed.” His palm covers Zayn’s whole cheek and his fingers curl behind his ear, and it’s everything he can do not to kiss him. But he needs to know that Zayn’s ready.

“You make being a lawyer sound so badass,” Zayn says teasingly, under his breath, and he doesn’t need to tell Liam he’s ready because he’s reaching up to kiss Liam himself, wrapping a hand round the back of his neck. Liam grips the kitchen counter with his other hand to steady himself, because the feeling of Zayn’s lips, soft and bitter with his morning coffee, against his is like being on a 100 mile per hour rollercoaster. Liam savours it, the warmth of Zayn’s bare chest against his, the wet curve of his tongue as he licks into Liam’s mouth, the firmness of his hand on the back of Liam’s neck and the way his hips fit squarely in place with Liam’s.

Liam immediately forgets what it’s like to kiss anyone else.

When Zayn pulls back an inch, Liam wants to chase after him but he opens his eyes to find Zayn grinning at him. 

“Don’t tell Louis, but I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.” Liam grins and brushes Zayn’s hair off his forehead.

“We’re not telling Louis any of this. Can you imagine the bastard’s face?” Zayn snorts into Liam’s collarbone, and Liam wraps his arms around him, holding him there. As much as he hates to admit it, Louis was right. Standing here in his kitchen, with the morning light in Zayn’s hair, it feels like something big has fallen into place. Like everything in the universe is where it should be. 

Liam feels at home.

“Come on, let’s take the girls out for breakfast yeah?” Liam says into Zayn’s hair. “Niall would kill us if we burnt down the house.” Zayn pulls back and beams up at him, and Liam kisses him on the nose, lightly, before going in to get the girls ready for breakfast.

//

Once everyone’s bundled up in coats, scarves and gloves, they pile into Liam’s car – the seatbelts have to stretch further than usual to wrap around the girls’ many layers of warm clothing that Zayn had insisted on – and turn the heating up full blast. Liam drives them around the corner to his favourite breakfast place and finds a table in the corner, helping Laila out of her scarf, unbuttoning her coat and folding her gloves on the table. 

“Pancakes! Pancakes!” Aafiya is shouting while Zayn tells her to keep her voice down. They manage to place their orders through the chaos of trying to interpret what Laila wants and telling Aafiya gently she can’t have pancakes and waffles, she has to choose one. Liam knows Zayn is on the verge of giving in, so he shoos the waitress away quickly and distracts Aafiya by pulling funny faces behind Zayn’s back. Zayn, for his part, smiles gratefully at Liam and starts folding the napkins into origami shapes for the girls – a rose for Laila and a swan for Aafiya. Liam watches his slender fingers work deftly with the soft paper, and it awakens a forgotten feeling in his bones that warms him from the inside out. 

There’s maple syrup all over the girls’ hands, cheeks and through their hair, and Laila can hardly finish half her plate and the coffee’s gone cold because they’re talking too much to drink, but Liam feels happier than he has in months, years, even, as he reaches over to wipe Laila’s sticky fingers before she puts on her gloves. Outside, he and Zayn watch the girls run towards the car, their scarves flying out behind them and shrieks echoing across the quiet street, crystallised by the cold. Liam looks over at Zayn with a small smile, and Zayn bumps his shoulder gently. Cautiously, Liam takes Zayn’s gloved hand in his, and they walk close enough together that the girls’ won’t notice their linked hands if they turn around. Liam knows Zayn will tell them when he’s ready.

They take the girls home for hot chocolate, and Aafiya decides she wants to bake cookies. Since Liam’s diet before Zayn moved in consisted of microwave meals and toast, he’s not sure he’s equipped for a Britain’s Hottest Home Baker episode to take place in his kitchen. He decides to call in reinforcements.

//

Harry and Nick arrive laden down with shopping bags, scarves and coats, and they completely bypass Liam and Zayn to sweep the girls up into huge hugs. Liam’s not sure who’s more infatuated with them – Harry dotes on them worse than Niall does, but then Liam sees the way Nick’s entire being lights up when he’s around the kids, his limbs go softer and he lets them climb all over him on the living room floor. Harry’s brought presents (as well as all the baking ingredients) as usual – matching headscarves for the girls, which he ties into their thick, wavy hair. Aafiya, of course, has forgotten all about the cookies as she rolls around on the floor with Nick, but Harry sweeps into the kitchen with an armful of flour and chocolate chips, and orders everyone else out. 

“Let me take care of it,” he says over the clanging of bowls and measuring cups. “I used to be a baker, you know.”

“You worked in a bakery for two years when we were teenagers,” Zayn points out, and Liam snorts, but Harry just sticks his nose in the air and starts measuring out flour and baking powder into a mixing bowl that Liam’s almost 100% sure does not belong to him. Liam tugs on Zayn’s arm.

“As long as he doesn’t try to burn the kitchen down like you did this morning, I’m happy,” he says, leading Zayn into the lounge where Nick is giving both Laila and Aafiya rides on his back in circles around the couch.

//

Liam doesn’t even think twice about climbing into bed next to Zayn that night. He pulls off his shirt and slides under the covers, feeling the heat from Zayn’s body immediately roll over his skin in waves. They’re not even touching yet. 

“Come ere,” Zayn says, his voice like warm honey. Liam rolls towards him and slips an arm around him. Zayn nestles his head in Liam’s collarbone, and it feels like the empty space has been waiting for Zayn’s cheek to rest there for eternity.

“I haven’t really said thank you,” Zayn says into Liam’s neck. It sends electric sparks down Liam’s spine, right down to his toes. 

“Thank you for what?” Liam asks.

“For – for everything. For taking me and the girls in. For showing me I don’t need to be so goddamn scared of things being good. For helping me feel…happy again.” 

Liam’s heart feels too big for his chest, and it’s beating like it wants to get out. Like a bird against the bars of its cage.

“I – I didn’t really mean to do that. But I’m glad I helped,” Liam says, not knowing how else to express the million fractured thoughts running through his head. His hand absent-mindedly comes up to stroke through Zayn’s hair. It’s thick and glossy, like he remembers. His fingers knot in the ends and he pulls gently, but Zayn doesn’t protest, just hums happily against Liam’s throat.

It’s a lot, and Liam really wants to kiss him. But more than that, he wants to keep him here, in this bed that isn’t really theirs yet, but could be one day, with Liam’s fingers in his hair and Zayn’s breath on Liam’s neck.

Liam falls asleep within minutes, soothed by the sound of Zayn’s breathing and his steady heartbeat against his chest.

//

Liam wakes up with Zayn’s drool on his chest, sleep in the corner of his eye, and a boner harder than the granite countertops Niall installed in his kitchen. He tries to angle himself away from Zayn so he won’t notice, but as soon as he moves, Zayn cuddles further into him.

“Liam,” he rasps in his barely-there morning voice, which really does not help Liam’s downstairs situation at all.

“Morning,” Liam manages, though his throat is barely working. Neither is his brain, but he’ll deal with that later. Right now he needs to start picturing his grandfather in a candy thong so his hard-on gets the hint and goes away. 

Zayn apparently, has other ideas. He throws a leg over Liam’s thighs, literally inches away from his dick, and – oh, shit. Liam feels like his brain is about to short-circuit. He feels lit up like a broken power cord, like a fourth of July night sky.

Then Zayn starts mouthing along Liam’s neck, hot and damp, and Liam almost bucks up off the bed it feels so good. But Zayn’s leg is holding him down, and he doesn’t really want to have the awkward ‘sorry I woke up next to you with a boner’ conversation right now. 

“Zayn I – I need to pee,” Liam says, wriggling so his dick doesn’t come into contact with any part of Zayn, which is becoming more difficult as Zayn wraps around Liam more and more tightly, like a boa constrictor. Liam is literally losing breath.

“Gonna be kinda tricky with a boner,” Zayn says, hot in Liam’s ear. Shit. 

Before Liam has time to be embarrassed, Zayn rolls on top of him, kissing further down Liam’s neck onto his collarbone, now his cock is digging into Liam’s stomach and god. Zayn’s hard too. Liam needs to get a hand on him right now. Then Zayn rolls his hips down slowly and firmly, and somewhere in the galaxy a star explodes in a ball of fire and light and ceases to exist. At least, that’s what it feels like in Liam’s brain.

Liam loses all self control; his hands go to Zayn’s hips and he flips them over, moaning into Zayn’s mouth like a horny teenager. Zayn responds equally enthusiastically, knotting his fingers into Liam’s hair and arching his back off the mattress to press further into Liam. Liam’s skin is white-hot and prickling, and he feels sweat beading on the back of his neck. He slides his hand between them and pushes Zayn’s pants down to his knees. He wraps his fingers around Zayn’s length and feels Zayn shudder underneath him, then he starts to pump gently, kissing down Zayn’s neck and tasting sweat on his tongue. He maps out the parts of Zayn’s body that have changed – the hairs on his chest, the way his torso has filled out and how his hip bones no longer jut out against his taut brown skin. Liam memorises every part, wants to keep the image of Zayn thrusting up into his hand imprinted on his brain forever. Liam’s mouth trails over Zayn’s hips, and he looks up when Zayn whines gently above him.

“This ok?” he asks gently, remembering this is the first time either of them have been naked with someone else since they were married.

“Can I – I wanna do you first, Li. I can’t wait any longer.” 

That spells the end for Liam, and he collapses back on the bed in a daze and watches, helpless, as Zayn leaves a burning trail of kisses down his torso. He pulls down Liam’s pants slowly, licking his lips and sending fireworks down Liam’s spine. Zayn puts his mouth on Liam’s inner thigh, and Liam feels as tightly strung as a virginal teenager on his first time. He’s not sure how long he’s gonna last.

“Can’t stop thinking about your cock, Li, how it’s gonna taste, how good it looks. How it’s gonna feel in my mouth,” Zayn moans into Liam’s thigh, and ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod Liam cannot handle this. “You can’t make me wait anymore, Li, I wanna taste you so bad,” Zayn’s saying, and Liam tries his best to control it but his hips twitch up, and he sees Zayn’s eyes darken. “Want you to fuck my mouth,” he says, and Liam lets his head drop back on the pillow, wondering which demon of hell sent Zayn Malik specifically to ruin him. 

“God, Zayn….yeah. Yeah, fuck, f-“ then he feels Zayn’s lips wrap around him, and fuck, Liam had forgotten how good Zayn was at this. The pressure of his lips is just right, the way he takes Liam down in long, slow licks is truly a spiritual experience, combined with the sinful way Zayn looks up at Liam with his dark, dark eyes and the way he digs his fingers into Liam’s hips. Liam is gripping the sheets like they’re his last hope, and when Zayn whines around his dick, he actually thinks his soul leaves his body. 

“Li,” Zayn says, his lips still brushing against the tip of Liam’s cock. 

“Mh?” Liam manages. Zayn tongues at his slit, and Liam moans in agony. Or ecstasy, he can’t quite decide.

“Told you I wanted you to fuck my mouth,” says Zayn, his voice hoarse and needy and the best thing Liam’s ever heard. 

“Oh – ok, just tell me if it’s too much.” Zayn actually rolls his eyes, and where has he been the last fifteen years of Liam’s life? Zayn is a little sloppy when he takes Liam into his mouth again, so quick and eager Liam actually ruts up into his mouth involuntarily. But Zayn moans around his dick in pleasure, and Liam does it again, rolling his hips up rhythmically and feeling himself hit the back of Zayn’s throat every time. Zayn’s eyes are closed, his cheeks hollow and a strand of hair falling across his forehead, and Liam can’t tear his eyes away. It’s – it’s too much, in all honesty, but Liam’s getting off on how much Zayn loves this, and he doesn’t want to stop. His hips move faster, watching the way he can see himself in Zayn’s cheek, moving against the taut skin. Liam has never been this turned on in his entire life. 

Finally Zayn pulls off, and Liam sees his eyes are watery, his lips slick and pink and hanging open, as if they’ve moulded to the shape of Liam’s cock. It’s an arresting image, but Liam has no time to admire the view. He sits up, pulling Zayn in for a kiss and tasting himself, licking into Zayn’s mouth because he hasn’t felt this adventurous for years. Sleeping with the same person for a decade can do that to a person. Liam shuffles back up the bed, pulling Zayn with him until he’s leaning against the headboard and Zayn is straddling Liam’s lap. Liam slides his hands down Zayn’s sides and over his hips until they settle on his ass. Zayn arches into it, grinding down into Liam’s lap, and Liam is painfully aware of his wet, throbbing cock between them. He drags his fingers down to Zayn’s hole and rubs around it, feeling the other man tense up and dig his fingers into Liam’s shoulders. Liam can barely remember where he is, but he knows there’s lube in the drawer of his bedside table, and he manages to lean over and fumble for it, popping the cap off the tube and spreading some over his fingers. Zayn is staring intently at Liam’s lips, and Liam can’t take his eyes off the golden glow of Zayn’s eyes in the morning light. His fingers find Zayn’s hole again, and this time he slips one in as Zayn lowers his mouth to Liam’s shoulders, sinking his teeth in. The pain anchors Liam, gives him something to focus on as he feels how tight Zayn is around him, around just one finger. It must have been a while for him, and even though Liam is desperate to come, he wants to make sure Zayn is completely ready. When Zayn stops biting down into Liam’s trapezius and is panting gently against his collarbone, Liam slips another finger in, and feels fingernails tear at the skin on his back. 

“Ok?” Liam pants, his other hand coming up to stroke Zayn’s hair off his forehead.

“More than,” Zayn gasps, rolling his hips down onto Liam’s fingers. He curls his forefinger up slightly, and Zayn whines, his mouth finding Liam’s messily and groaning into it. “Right there Li, yes, fuck,” he moans, and Liam keeps his fingers curled up against Zayn’s prostate while he adds a third. Zayn’s relaxed into it, his hips in a steady rolling motion and his mouth planting wet kisses all over Liam’s mouth, neck and shoulders. 

“Liam, oh my god, need you inside me, this feels so good but fuck, ah, yes, right there, need your cock babe.” 

Liam slowly pulls his fingers out, and Zayn grabs him, pulling himself forward and then sinking slowly down onto Liam’s cock, bottoming out on his lap. Liam thought Zayn was tight around his fingers, but feeling him stretched around his cock is a completely different ballgame. His head is filled with white noise, his legs are numb, and his cock is pulsing painfully inside Zayn. He grabs Zayn’s ass with both hands, and Zayn starts to grind down onto him, moving more and more each time until he almost pulls completely off Liam, then slams his hips back down. He leans further over Liam so they’re eye to eye, and rocks his hips up and down, the chain he wears around his neck dangling between them. All Liam can do is hold Zayn’s hips while he rides him, and focus on not coming too quickly. Zayn’s breathing intensifies and he’s fucking down onto Liam faster and faster, starting to moan with every snap of his hips. 

“You feel perfect babe, so good,” Liam says, grabbing Zayn’s chain and pulling him in for a kiss. “So good for me,” he says again, and Zayn swears into Liam’s mouth. 

“Gonna come, Li, gonna –“ Liam grabs Zayn’s cock, but he’s barely got a hand on him before Zayn’s spilling between them, over Liam’s fingers and stomach. Liam follows barely seconds later, breath stuttering and feeling Zayn tighten around him. They both sit in shock for a moment, and Liam watches Zayn’s pupils shrink back to their normal size. Then the other man pulls off him carefully and reaches for the tissues on Liam’s bedside table. Once Zayn’s cleaned both of them off, he kisses Liam chastely, and lies down on the bed next to him.

“That was fucking amazing,” he says, his voice sleepy and his accent thick, and Liam snorts a little, because it’s so Zayn. 

“That’s the most alert I’ve seen you in the morning in my entire life,” Liam says, putting his arm around Zayn so he can rest his head on Liam’s chest.

“Yeah, well, you’re a pretty good motivating force.” Liam runs his fingers up and down Zayn’s arm, and feels static between their skin.

“I thought I was gonna have to hide my morning wood from you,” Liam says, settling down into the pillows more and brushing the loose strand of hair back from Zayn’s forehead.

“Same,” Zayn laughs, “then I realized you were hard too, and I was like ‘thank God’. We never have to hide our boners again.”

“Louis is gonna lose his mind when he finds out about this,” Liam says, and Zayn gives him a funny look. 

“Louis? We just had the best sex, possibly in the history of coitus, and you’re thinking about Louis?” Liam laughs. 

“Fair point. I’m just – I don’t wanna have to hide this, you know? We can tell the girls whenever you’re ready, I mean, if this is gonna be a thing, but I just – I want our friends to know. You know?” Zayn raises an eyebrow at him, but he’s smiling, his sweet, unaffected smile that puts creases around his eyes and butterflies in Liam’s stomach. He is literally eighteen again.

“You talk too much,” Zayn says, and reaches up to kiss him. Liam feels contentment settle into his bones, and he holds Zayn’s cheek in his hand, feeling the prickle of morning stubble under his fingers. Then Zayn pulls back, and his eyes are serious. “Let’s wake the girls up now and tell them.” Liam grins, but then he looks down at them, sticky and sweaty, and sits up. 

“We should probably shower first."

//

Aafiya’s hand stretches out as far as she can reach, making grabby motions towards the stacks of Twiglets on the supermarket shelf. Liam glances over his shoulder where Zayn is perusing frozen vegetables, Laila on his hip, and winks at Aafiya, putting two boxes of their favourite biscuits in the trolley. 

“Peas or beans, Li?” Zayn asks from behind him, and Liam makes a face at Aafiya. She giggles. 

“Beans,” Liam says, swiping some barbecue chips off the shelf. Out of nowhere, Zayn appears beside him, and frowns.

“What’s this?” he asks, picking the chips up between thumb and forefinger. Liam looks at Aafiya and puts his finger to his lips, and she giggles, putting a hand over her mouth.

“What? How did those get in there?” Liam says, laughing as Zayn elbows him out of the way, handing over Laila. 

“Your trolley pushing privileges are officially revoked,” Zayn says, reaching out to tweak Aafiya’s nose. Liam winks at her over Zayn’s shoulder. He still hasn’t noticed the Twiglet’s, so it’s a small victory. 

Liam swings Laila up onto his shoulders as he follows Zayn down the aisle, putting boring things like rice, yoghurt and bread in the trolley. Liam does his best to sneak in sweets – waffles, marshmallows, chocolate – to make the girls laugh, but Zayn catches him every time and puts it back. Liam and Laila race Zayn and Aafiya down the aisles, almost knocking over a display of shampoo, and Zayn declares it a tie, buying each of the girls a lollipop at the checkout. Liam pouts until Zayn gives in and buys him one as well, complaining that he has three children now and he doesn’t remember signing up for this. Then Liam kisses him on the cheek, because they’re allowed to do that now, and carries Laila out to the car. The girls bicker over whose lollipop tastes better while Liam and Zayn put the groceries in the car, and Liam thinks that something so normal has never felt so important to him. Every minute with Zayn and the girls is a miracle, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over that feeling that everything’s where it’s meant to be – Zayn on the passenger side across from him, the two girls in their car seats in the back, and Liam with his hands on the steering wheel, seeing the rest of his unfold in front of him, day after day of this. Liam finally feels like he’s at home.


End file.
